MikailMaddixx

He’s looking right at me. He knows he’s guilty but there’s this nonchalant, smartass look on his face that just sends me into a fury. Wait a second, is that a smirk on his face? It better not be. The room around him, my room, is a battlefield of belongings strewn about carelessly. My clothes are all torn from their drawers, which hang open and falling from the cheap wooden dresser, and scattered across the floor. There’s a wetness to some of them which I can only pray is water –I pray for his sake of course –and as I see this I also notice the overflowing toilet. Ah the old towel trick: stuffing and flush

Ancient oak with cherry stain polished to shine like its glass, Twelve gleaming gold spots against an ivory face. A flaw, a crack in the corner of the glass, Splinters my emaciated reflection. I sink, lethargic, into the crimson armchair And watch the steady, heavy swing of the pendulum. Tick. The needlepoint seems not to move, lets mass move around it instead. It will not leave just because time says it must. Neither will I. Tick. The pendulum is the oppressive master, damnable keeper of time. The malicious rhythm taunts the needle, seizing its life like a reaper. Tick. Needle obeys, promises to keep up with the steady one-two, Prays to

Pedestrian feet beat quickly against the sidewalk And I watch, discreetly, their stories unfold – She wears a silver cross on her neck, Clutching it nervously in wrinkled hands And looking at all in discomfort, Seeing the sin that seethes from everyone. A minister’s wife itching To force her ideals of deliverance On everyone who doesn’t want them. He adjusts his tie calmly, collected, Glasses poised precisely on the bridge of his nose So that he may seem put together. A façade, for he’s a businessman, Torn between belief and truth, A pawn of prosperity without a care for humanity. She pushes her babies in a d

Cruel words and white powder sift through the nose, Wicked tongue both culprit and solution. Scream out all the hatred and resolve woes. Aunt loathed God for taking the baby, chose Melancholy, damning absolution. Cruel words and white powder sift through her nose. Mother abhorred me, for her goals I froze; I was the reason, her life’s pollution. Scream out all the hatred and resolve woes. Father betrayed us and chose to expose His truth, ill; he wanted dissolution. Cruel words and white powder sift through his nose. Unloved, unwelcome, one of the off crows I am to them. They need retribution. Cruel words and white powder sift throug