Catastrophes

poetry

And the brains are left to rot
up on the table, and under the windows,
and honey I think you
left some on the bed

There’s a mess in the dresser
from the paint you spilled
so I think you ruined everything

I’ll scrape the brains tomorrow
and scrub the hardwoods
and maybe clean the sheets
but the paint’s not coming off.
No, I think you ruined everything.

One thought on “Catastrophes

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