A white tear bled from the foil seam,
a cold, lactic rot sliding down her woven leather heel,
drawing a pale, sour map across her instep.
I watched the porcelain skin of her shoe drink the milk,
and in that quiet curdling, my entire small frame snapped.
A choir of jagged iron shrieked beneath my skull,
tearing through the bone and behind my eyes:
a ruined child deserves no sun.
I did not wait for any reflex.
I dragged myself by the throat,
spat curses into my own ears,
and ran.
I bolted past the garden gate,
past the tall, unbothered grass,
my bare feet slapping the dirt in a rhythm of
self - contempt and fault.
In the damp dark behind the compost heap,
I pressed my face into the stinging nettles,
scraping my knees against the jagged limestone,
offering my own raw, bleeding shins to the air
to pay the debt for what I had done
praying the earth would swallow the wretched thing I was.
The missing letters are feared lost better calls shrieked into the mossy night where hovering the moon delights, in wolfish cries and another bursts the devil called and answered Ms. Hearst so while the nighttime day's mirror... cries are heard! They said that amber was a rock no more, for if serendipitously defined then hulking over the river is the divestment of the vines, but modern day America hasn't won the currency war, the Euro has it's place ensured, and though we wile through rows of corn our hearts aflutter as others mourn, be crisp beneath that blotted out apple tree, the asylum loves apple juice for free.
The song my soul never seeked
The writings I never wanted to keep
The beautiful pain that’s started to leak
And my ugly heart that only shrieked
I own your signature.
The dappled papers in the ancient literature
The ink rubbing against my thumb and forefinger
My adoring gaze caressing everything you and similar
Your darling face, particular
Although I am ever the wonderer:
Who was the relationship’s true severer?
The blissful cherry-pink of a spring-summer’s day?
It is but, I say:
Your ears’ colourful glaze
When I am not the one to spot you first; but they
Perhaps you are a swallow
With a sweet sound of chirp at morn - no sorrow
Dawn and midday, the sound is never hollow
And in my calm heartache, I wallow.
Perhaps the poppy and the willow
is a better combo
Although you weep with joy, not with ashamed gusto
I would be lost, without you, you know;
In fact, you are my hero.
No, no, whatever was I thinking - my mind must be slowing -
You are a stream, blue-silver and glowing
Helping us swim, getting us going
Taking a chance, and always flowing
Until you have been stopped by cold weather and snowing
Alibi: Faeren
The pristine white bride
gracefully glided down the
aisle toward her sharply
dressed, eagerly waiting
groom.
A sudden, violent gust of
freezing air violently
shattered the stained- glass
windows of the church.
The delicate white lace of
her bridal veil rapidly
decayed into a swarm of
black spiders.
Horrified wedding guests
shrieked as the pews
suddenly transformed into
rotting wooden coffins that
snapped shut.
The smiling groom unhinged
his jaw, swallowing the screaming
bride whole before the altar.
The distinguished guests
raised their crystal goblets
toast the host's lavish,
midnight banquet.
A sudden, violent chill swept
the parlor as the grandfather
clock shrieked thirteen times.
The exquisite roast on the
tarnished platters abruptly
mutated into writhing,
maggot- infested human
limbs.
Horrified screams died in
their throats as the dining
room doors slammed shut
and vanished into the drywall.
They turned to flee, only to
realize they were chewing on
their own severed tongues.
The other day while I was sitting on a park bench
Relaxing,
I heard a voice behind me.
It sort of shrieked a little
And even squeaked a bit
As it let out a laugh.
I had been thinking
Of a joke I had heard
The night before,
And then there came that shriek
So I laughed along.
Pretty soon I heard other voices too.
All of them laughing,
Joking and having a fun time.
Contagious originally published in Impspired Magazine, 2026 all rights reserved.
Messy? A child at home word.
Not this crone's, outside.
Whose own litter, leaf ,log-felled
When least by repelled.
Whilst strewed with shrieked delight, not
Demented fury!
And heard, laughed for us, as sore;
Kicked through; and jumped o'er!
Psychosis cuddles with the far-off.
And grumbles.
In my face they shrieked like slop.
And globs of truth.
I’m multiple.
Struggling in this desert.
And then “further” grows.
Crumpled like secret codes.
Psychosis made me walk 10 miles.
It was the nearest gas station.
I’m multiple.
And we grumbled.
Makes me far-off.
The only thing that’s constant.
Is not remembering last Wednesday.
How dashing.
A wild eyed host shrieked, “Buy this pill!”
With a grin that said I no longer feel chill
Then the side effects roared
The host’s words cut like a sword
“Diarrhea so violent it may run up hill!”
Today I was asked to write a poem
about a lady who had spun some dog hair to make a scarf
When you read this unique story
I hope you'll get a jolly belly laugh
Not well washed this scarf that she was wearing
got wet gave off a doggy smell
It happened in the rain while she was walking down the street
All the local male dogs stopped !! In unison clapped their paws
Hooray! At last !!! We've found a bhitch on heat
Holy smoke she shrieked what am I gonna do
in desperation she began to run
Thirty grinning dogs behind her
were having so much fun
Now the moral of this story
just imagine this epic scene
If you're gonna spin with dog hair
make sure it's bloody clean
Since writing this poem my mind is quite agog
Can charge a man with buggery can buy a bastard file can cut my bloody finger
But I had to find a way around how to describe a female dog
(the bhitch she just delivered a litter of six pups. Surprise! surprise !. She was a victim of deletion)
Footnote this is a true story with a wee bit of poetic licence
A long tailed monkey
black as polished ebony
shrieked in frantic scrabbling
at the grey mouth
of a silver pouch
and danced on braided rope
with the paunchy pig
to hypno strains
on the gilded harp
plucked by geisha girls
hair bouffant and clasped
in shells and iridescent combs.
I had heard of haunted houses for sure
barely knew about Halloween house on Mure
It was situated at the top of the lane, high on a hill
The jack-o-lanterns were bright; the night was still
everyone is invited, an enthusiastic ghoul told me
He was standing at edge of the driveway, pouring pumpkin tea
decorative flies swirled in this beverage, one made a hiss
I drank them down rapidly, not wanting to look like a priss
a vampire-like creature standing on the porch gave a bow.
“a human being!” She shrieked. “Oh, you’ll be a wow!”
This almost made me turn and run, but I was braver, right?
I was the hit of the party, on this Halloween night.
There once was a backseat critique
Whose comments were constant and shrieked
Though the driver was clean
No tickets pristine
The loudest had wrecks every week
’Tis the last rose of summer! I shrieked in dismay,
and soon its bright petals must wither away!
O whence now the peach, the pear, and the orange?
For answer the door of time creaked on its door-hinge.
’Tis the first frost of autumn! I sobbed in despair,
and winter’s sharp teeth soon will bite the day’s air!
The leaves fall in shock at the season’s cruel crime,
like a dandruff of years on the shoulders of time.
’Tis the winter’s fifth blizzard! I howled in a rage,
and my soul gnaws its tail like a beast in a cage.
Though winter is wan, yet my passion is purple,
for griefs have my heart by the hair, and they sure pull.
’Tis the spring-time’s first peony! I squealed in delight,
and its delicate bloom is for sore eyes a sight!
Now the season’s warm joy holds the forests in thrall,
and I believe that I don’t feel so bad after all.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Walking by the broken bridge,
Your hand in mine and your eyes shut,
Unsure footsteps lagging behind,
Until I pull you forward with a tug.
That sigh of relief when you cross,
Looking back at what you've traded,
The hand in mine just a bit cold,
But firmly still in place.
"Be brave" I say laughing,
"It's just a little height" indeed.
You huff and stride ahead,
"I'll get there, you'll see" you promise.
"What have you got to lose?
What frightens you so?" I wonder.
"What if I fall?" comes a broken whisper,
"And what if you fly?" your eyes sparkle.
That day, witnessing your unwavering feet,
As you made your way to the bridge,
I felt my heart swell and constrict,
With equal parts pride and loss.
You look back one last time,
At all that you are taking with you and leaving behind.
"She fell" they shrieked in agony,
Choosing to mourn your broken hopes.
You indeed had nothing to lose, love,
"No. She flew" celebrating the wings that set you free.
You saw the world when it was blue,
So I gave up on trying to save you now.
Inspired by song: Listen Before I Go
By: Billie Eilish
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