Children,

One by one
Forced into the cylindrical space
Tumbling over each other
Silence
Sweltering
Doused in oily conductor
They begin to panic
Losing traction
Their agitation
Slamming into each other
The walls and back again
Their skin splits and squeals
Wounds jammed with salt
To bring out the worst
Bloated and tender,

I still make popcorn in a pot

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About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook: facebook.com/MolyTov
This entry was posted in Poetry, Written, Written Work and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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