Reads: 34  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Cover image:



With a beak,

hooked and glinting,

a scythe to my eye,

he hunched his shoulders.

For more than a minute

he brooded

on the pleasure of

ripping me apart.

There’s a horrid sense

of deja vu

to this whole scene

as he melts,

becomes no more than

a dark

and seething mist.

It’s a shape-shifting transformation

for the beak,

it’s gone,

to be replaced by blackened claws -

an ebony sharpness

pressed hard against

my skin.

Submitted: November 16, 2020

© Copyright 2020 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:


Mike S.

A fine 'crower,' Hull

Mon, November 16th, 2020 8:39pm


Thanks for giving it a read, Mike. Much appreciated.

Wed, November 18th, 2020 11:48am

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