(This is a continuation of the story started in Happy, the previous poem)
She didn’t feel the smile she wore.
Anyone else would be thrilled to double up their stack at the poker table.
Doing so when she knew he had blundered made her cry a bit inside. She wasn’t cut out for this.
Debris swirled in the breeze caused by the opening door
Uncovering a notebook long forgotten, if the amount of dirt inside the chamber.
She bent down to grab it, to unlock its secrets
The moment she touched it she turned to…
Beating a dead horse became his specialty.
Railing against the machine his mission in life.
All he lived for was to troll as many people as he could on Twitter.
So it was surprising when he found a woman who would put up with his shenanigans.
Her secret? She bought his mama’s house and locked him inside the basement.
On camera, the room looked round.
Viewed from the inside, however, that was definitely not the case.
And why did they decide to make a space, especially such an important one, that way?
Look, they were still British in their own special way, so why not.
He was sick of feeling empty inside
Only self-pity seemed to fill the void, and he knew that wasn’t healthy
Looking out over the storm-tossed ocean waves, he wondered what to do
Love felt so far away, somewhere out there past the emotional gray horizon
Of course, even if he got out there it might not help
Walking away from the water, he tried to convince himself that being full wouldn’t feel all that great
Selling pieces of his soul was the only way he could get ahead
They were not large pieces, but they all added up
Outside everything was fine, but inside, the echoes of who he had been became a cacophony
Relegating his self-worth into moral bankruptcy
Eventually, he ran out of product, closed up shop, and faded from memory
Viewing those things that were not there
It was the bane of her existence
She wanted to expose them and show others what they could not see
If only she was better at that than she was. Every time she tried; the figments fled
Organizing her chaotic thoughts, she decided to try a different trap this time
NaNoWriMo would be motivation to finally capture them inside her words
Crayola’s yellow box made his eyes go wide.
Realizing all one hundred twenty colors inside were his to work with.
And that thought had him wondering what he should color first.
Yukon forests? Dragons breathing fire on a horde of gold? Something from the Matrix?
Of course, he could let his imagination run wild and do something totally out of the box.
Next moment he was using a heat gun to make a three-dimensional sunset!
She scooped out the contents of her soon-to-be jack-o-lantern
Copious amounts of sticky wet goop went plop as it was deposited into the garbage
Releasing a scent that wasn’t as fowl as she had anticipated as the knife cleaned the sides
After a bit more grunt work, the task was finished
Putting her candle inside, the glow from the eyes and mouth gave the room a ghoulish glow
Emmet said he never used his head, so she was happy to use it for him
Every word he wrote on the paper was a bucket full of holes
Making them equally as worthless at holding anything inside
Perhaps he should just give up now and save the time and effort
Though it did make the lifting of each one easier in its own way
Yes, maybe he would haul of them into place now since it was easy and spackle it all together during rewrites
Stories and photos from Scotland
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Abdi Mohammed
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