I don't believe you
Because I don't want it to be true
I want to be ugly
Bent broken and twisted
Like the pieces of a broken mirror
Glued onto the face of a doll
So you can see yourself
Reflected on my head
~~~
I wish my skin were scarred up
Covered in the evidence of my fate
So I didn't have to verbalize
The past I've lived
The horrors that helped create
What lives inside the rind
Fermenting on the vine
~~~
If you crack me open
The smell will make you sick
Never would you
Choose to
Pour me in the glass
Sitting on your table
Next to your plate of fish
And toss some of my liquid back
~~~
No, one nostril full of my putrid scent
Will force your reflex
Have me thrown in the bin
I may look ready on the rind
Anyone could tell
With a single finger
I am overly ripe
I'm rotten inside
Stinking and oozing
Turning to vinegar in the sun
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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CH 20~ Party Down
Argento’s ninth (eighteenth in earth years) Birthday came and went Thursday, the thirteenth, and he’d already received his father’s gift, if you could call it that. You had to commit a fairly serious infraction to be cut off; the Arch-Baron was keeping up appearances and maintaining his own reputation as much as any sense of love or attachment to Argento with his “gift.”
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 7 days ago
Comments (1)
🫂hugs, kind of my mood right now