Worms

There have always been holes in my carpet—

Holes from the worms in my shoe.

There are holes in the table cloth, sheets, and the curtains—

Holes where they’ve all eaten through.

 

Holes in her wedding dress,

Holes in my suit—

Which I won’t ever look at again.

Holes in the deed

That we bought for this house—

Me and my dear Julienne.

 

The holes in the carpet expand after dusk,

And I watched from my bed as they grew

They eat at the plaster, but worse is my heart

The worms, they are eating that too.

 

I won’t know what she said

As we lay here in bed.

Her hair does not shine its bright gold.

The worms eat her skin

As they slither right in

And leave holes in the patches of mold.


Dead in the Attic is on its way. How do you feel about including rhyming poems like this one? Or should I just stick to free verse? Let me know what you think, and sweet dreams…

Door: a Flash Fiction Nightmare

Faces_Sketch“Nobody goes down there,” said Toby, taking a sip of whisky and pausing for a drag.

“Nobody?” I said, “Are you sure?”

“Well, I know some have, but they probably weren’t too happy about it.”

A breeze fled past the alley, and there was a crinkling sound when I shut my eyes. I need water, I thought. Water and a woman.

“You know,” said Toby, “I saw a gal,” I leaned back, because I knew this was gonna’ be a story. Not small talk, real this time.

Continue reading “Door: a Flash Fiction Nightmare”