Weekly feature by: Sasheera Gounden

Decisive steps,
yet a deliberate fail
One after the other
Petals of blood patter across the marble floor
The night owl hovers
over the dirty kitchen sink
Vomits lime and pink cotton balls
of putrid stars
and cannot sleep
with sand in its eyes
and mother’s brimstone voice
Echoes of vodka,
clean-shaven shoes
And pretty polka dot skirts
The willow trees,
God i hate them,
You make me remember
They haunt me
Their nails scratch the windowpane
i cannot erase what haunts me
As the clock chimes
The hour of the dead
And i drink
Your vodka breath
of one,
and three

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