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Unlucky Unhappy Me

Invisible predators steal my soul taking me to a bowl of stale potato chips dunking me down beneath the cigarette butts That were not ever well-hidden in the bottom Plunking me down firmly with their beady little hands and their alien eyes. Laughing maniacally while I thrash around, trying to get free Then they grab me up having a better idea And plunk me face down, bound but not gagged, Which would have been invariably better, into a smallish bowl of cold, half-eaten oatmeal. I die ungracefully, and irritated.

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Rhona Mcferran

Date: 7/31/2019 8:36:00 PM

Oh wow, what a horrible end! It's so creatively penned that I must FAV it, although I hope it is creative fiction and not a metaphoric truth! :O

Caren Krutsinger
Date: 8/1/2019 9:58:00 AM

It is not the truth YET but I can smell them, they are around the corner, waiting for me to come out.

Kurt Ravidas

Date: 7/31/2019 2:16:00 PM

I live ungracefully and irritated, bound like a half-eaten oatmeal. Your poem was sent me to comfort, Caren.

Caren Krutsinger
Date: 8/1/2019 9:58:00 AM

I am so glad Kurt. It was meant to comfort people. NOT!

Panagiota Romios

Date: 7/31/2019 10:13:00 AM

A very creative write Panagioota

Caren Krutsinger
Date: 8/1/2019 9:59:00 AM

Thank you my friend. I was in such a mood yesterday!

Kim Rodrigues

Date: 7/31/2019 8:32:00 AM

Wow, the imagery here is deeply dark and depressing. Well done. Hope you are doing better than this. Sending you some flowers by carrier pigeon ;)

Caren Krutsinger
Date: 8/1/2019 9:59:00 AM

I am doing a lot better. When I am truly down, the poetry is not like this at all. It is non-existent.