It’s a skull-shaped pot of wilted flowers on the porch waiting for the tide to rise, pick it up, and take it away to Dreamland, where it belongs.
Posted in response to the challenge Simile.
My face
More by wph
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The Statue
I looked up at the statue, and it looked down at me.
There we stood, unhappy wretches.
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The Pretti Doctrine
If we get scared, they have us in their pockets.
If we don't, all they have is blood.
And blood is not a weapon.
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The History of the Entire World
From what I remember, it was born growing.
It was born hot, expanding, glowing,
and the people were made of gold
and of fire.
And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,
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