Photo by chris robert on Unsplash
I spy with my little I, my ego
I hear its voice — a choice — plucked from the pleura.
I choke on the choke, its spines reserved for the refined palate…I never had a taste for the heart.
Its prickled ends pierce my flesh. I detest!
Its putrid odor, an ode to its owner. Of this skin, I am but a renter.
About the Creator
E.K. Daniels
Writer, watercolorist, and regular at the restaurant at the end of the universe. Twitter @inkladen

Comments (1)
This is very good. Wow. A decrying of ego, put so plainly, yet so beautifully poetic too. That last line is awesome!