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Ivor Steven: Pumpkin Soup Again

by Dead Donovan in All Posts

    Head’s falling like an unpinned grenade. Soon ready to explode. Burying shrapnel pieces in corners of shade. Scattered like broken retina globes. Razor blades shredding memory lockets. Slivered icicles inside blurry sockets. Needles of pain. Sheets of sleet before the rain. Bloodied eyeball tracks like meteor trails. And the pain-numbing capsules do fail. Oh please, blindly needing to set sail. Upon swirling Oceans, like Homer’s tales.     Wanna read more poetry? [Click Here & Be Scared!]


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