The Count’s Mind
Each time she shrieks with horror, I feel her.
I feel the warmth of what was our joy like the slight curl of the devil’s excited mouth. I will swallow her misty soul, delightfully, without regrets. My teeth burn like a furnace as they devour her skin.
A Leprechaun returns Home.
My little hairy leprechaun
you hurt me each time you leave.
Your fat fingers are heavy with hairy red knuckles.
I know the game all too well.
I never can find those pots of gold.
Trying to Explain an allergic reaction:
Each berry pierces my tongue and tries to jump ship with a taste bud or two anchored to its juices.
Life is an ironic shelled germ flowing in the body of a furry pastel blue monster.
Real Life 7/16/14:
Gaza is undergoing oppressive attacks in which biased news outlets hide the truth.