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Author: HisNameIsNoMore
ASL Info:    28 - Male - Ohio
Elite Ratio:    2.95 - 75 /194 /254
Words: 112
Class/Type: Poetry /
Total Views: 1127
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 916



Stories of the deep,
creeping reprieve of peace –
creatures made of nothing but stares.
They’re aware
of fragile
fears and panic –
confused thrashing of the horde.

The echoes, the shouts,
the screams and the laughs –

Pandemonium born,
groomed rows of perfect teeth,
alluring promise
of what dwells beneath.
Stories of familiar importance
passed between dark places
thoughts feel unsafe.

The falls, the traps,
the snares and the grasps –

Someone said
they could smell the sweat
of sex
and they cried
“me too –“
a frenzy of something
and little nothings
claim going Dutch
on passion and sanctuary.

The predators
dwell –

Submitted on 2019-04-28 16:39:46     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Another well-written picturescape!

Question: is the word in the last line of the first stanza supposed to be thrashing? That would seem to match the next line better...
| Posted on 2019-04-28 00:00:00 | by rememberplaydoh | [ Reply to This ]

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