Stomach Wrenching Cough by Creature-It, literature
Literature
Stomach Wrenching Cough
The roses have turned to grass.
The sky shadows grey.
I can't walk out of my abode without being pierced by
Overwelhming stares
Of people that have turned to pigs, which envy
Women that have turned to mirrors.
In this world, I am ashes,
covering the polished floor
And as I walk through the quake-cracked halls
I am ridiculed for
My lover,
Painting my house highlighter blue,
And painting up my nephew in pink and red.
And I think what a beautiful world writhes beneath my grasp
As I form it into my ideal dream.
Pressing my fingers in,
molding it as it screams.
It's oil dripping onto my skin, off, and onto the floor
To be forg