Poetry

Kingdom Crasher

Little demon;

small one loitering in the side alley,

waiting for the merry makers to trip and fall.

Only a second,

and your fingerprints are all over their pies.

Crushed pastry,

you lick the berry juice off and laugh.

This is your hobby, your dream, your job.

You do not see them spying onĀ you,

marking your movements,

tracking your trail.

They are the ones who will see to it

that you fail.

Poetry

Plucking electric wire

Eyes flick side to side, ticking their way through the hours.

Cheeks aglow

facing another way,

taste buds tasting buds sickeningly sweet.

Toughening the scales: use them to shield a heart.

 

Following up the path, a memory’s ghost.

A waste bin of paper, each sheet

etched with all that you are

and a hundred ‘might have been’s’.