the underdog

pretty lines
have a way
of making me feel
inadequate

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

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common property

I’ve given up trying
to count words
once released
they mean nothing

some fall on fertile land
seeds grow into flowers
others, drops of hope
on soil aging in thirst

in any case
they are all I have

ironically
all I have to share

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

we aren’t on the list

map shows the way
to halfway house
you’ll know it when you get there

we need a place to crash
to sit out midnight
before sliding into tomorrow

knocker on the door
smiling skull
chilling welcome to nowhere

you need a reservation,
I hear them say
I knew it would come to this

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

open house

demons on display
examine rare exhibits
inside my closet

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

analysis in progress

today saw me sliding through
pockets of void
where time froze
space was made of elastics
and words no longer soothed

I’m still waiting for my brain
to conclude
if that was just
a horrible nightmare

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

out-of-date instructions

it looks like your book
needs updating
time’s a-changin’
so quickly
your tales go stale
before they are told

not that I care—
I write my own script
and contrary to what
your book preaches,
I choose where to land
be it heaven
or hell

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

skewed commensalism

what pisses me off
more than anything
is how I have become
so dependent
on your shadows

I used to dance alone
and I was fine

until you came along

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved

modus operandi

you might think it absurd
when I say they wake up
each morning thinking
‘which lines should I cross
to get ahead
today’

stay for a little bit longer
to see what drives them

such a sad state of society

~~~

© annie scribes 2019
all rights reserved