
Distrust has penetrated their path, no chance to cross
in my predatory mind. Murder smelled of
sweetness and dust. A
terrible mistake they made, always on the road, never hiding.
Rumbling across the room like invisible thunderbolts until they’re caught by an
ambulance made of a vacuum cleaner.
CPR could never save their lives, though
they always fought to the last blood
in the presence of a wall made of artificial stones.
One in a million, the distraction slowly frayed my
nebulous nerves .
---
Thank you for reading!
If you liked this poem, you can add your Insights, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.
You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Mescaline Brisset on my Vocal profile. The art of creation never ends.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...



Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.