Whispers In A Dreary Place

Folder: 
Unpublished pieces
Whispers in a dreary place.
Damp drilling spiders
correcting Grammar
and fulfilling their mission.
We are breeze skinned now
and so we prance
in malignant abandon.
Calling to trees...
 
          fall.
                     fall.
                             
                         fall on me and
                              educate me
                                  on the
                                     stupidity
   of
  opening windows.
 
Doors slamming shut and furious skins
are demanding retribution.
 
Sighing to self
                   and thinking,
 
                                it's all lemonade
     gone stale now.
 
 
Jesus. Sweet merciful Jesus,
                       what sharply stoned road
                                      am I walking upon?
There are too many shivers of dread.
Too many falling trees
           and skinning of knees.
 
Answering me.
                       "Be quiet.
                                 Remember who I am."

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Who I am

You're witty, and that is who you is you's are


Christine'a Lee Mathers