where you’re –so– worn out ⠀⠀⠀you won’t mind ⠀⠀⠀being wiped out; ⠀⠀⠀hell, you’ll even
thank the tsunami for ⠀⠀⠀flicking you off ⠀⠀⠀the face of this ⠀⠀⠀flaming planet
far far away ⠀⠀⠀from that pesky housefly ⠀⠀⠀that bites when ⠀⠀⠀it’s about to rain &
all those gosh darn ⠀⠀⠀responsibilities ⠀⠀⠀piling ^e^v^e^r^e^s^t^ high
⠀⠀⠀
(…Zzz…)
⠀⠀⠀
sure are days ⠀⠀⠀—frustration-flooded full— ⠀⠀⠀where all those angsty swells
add up to ⠀⠀⠀a grand sum of ⠀⠀⠀nothing special. ⠀⠀⠀lord knows there’s ⠀⠀⠀no cleansing
the bad juju ⠀⠀⠀‘cause it clings ⠀⠀⠀like the stink of a skunk & ⠀⠀⠀you can see them all
clamping their nostrils ⠀⠀⠀shut ⠀⠀⠀locking the deadbolt ⠀⠀⠀tight
as you strut on by, ⠀⠀⠀unable to hide ⠀⠀⠀that glued-on stench.
⠀⠀⠀
(…zZz…)
⠀⠀⠀
all these teary-weary-bleary days ⠀⠀⠀where your eyelids feel ⠀⠀⠀propped //UP\\ ⠀⠀⠀by stilts,
weak & weathered boards ⠀⠀⠀on the graveyard verge ⠀⠀⠀of inevitable collapse
but what can you do ⠀⠀⠀but witness their fall?
⠀⠀⠀
(…zzZ…)
⠀⠀⠀
so many days! ⠀⠀⠀where the very notion of a bed ⠀⠀⠀becomes your one&only
savior ⠀⠀⠀jesus is in those sheets ⠀⠀⠀waiting to share ⠀⠀⠀the eternal bliss ⠀⠀⠀of pillowy valleys
that (marsh)mallowy mattress ⠀⠀⠀that safe h(e)aven ⠀⠀⠀that one cushiony barrier
from the shit river ~f l o w i n g~ below
⠀⠀⠀
(…Zzz…)
⠀⠀⠀
one more yawn & ⠀⠀⠀your jaw’ll pop straight off ⠀⠀⠀soaring off to god knows where—
a little lost balloon on a string, ⠀⠀⠀a plumpy ruby strawberry ⠀⠀⠀plucked off the vine
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀UP!
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀up
floating ⠀⠀⠀up
about to ⠀⠀⠀burst through the clouds ⠀⠀⠀with its sinful succulence
miss sweetie liberty— ⠀⠀⠀no longer tethered ⠀⠀⠀to anything at a l l
.
.
.
Abbie Doll is a writer residing in Columbus, OH, with an MFA from Lindenwood University and is a Fiction Editor at Identity Theory. Her work has been featured in Door Is a Jar Magazine, 3:AM Magazine, and Pinch Journal Online, among others. Connect on socials @AbbieDollWrites.