last night
i dreamt i was sitting
on the school bus
time passing by
moments rushing
out of my reach
the boy beside me
tapped his fingers
on his right knee
creating an unknown rhythm
i listen to him
tap his fingers
it calms me for a while
it was like in a war
when he stopped
it was like one wave
had passed
and another was yet to come
then he started
to hum
creating the same beats
but now with pitch
my body becomes tense
my nails are half way
through my palms
and i take my hand and grip
his hair
i feel the tension
in my muscles
i slam his head through
the window
his head breaks the glass
his neck is pierced by
the sharp edges at the
bottom of the shattered window
i stand
the bus has stopped
i walk to the front and
slowly open the door
i become encapsulated by
the cool crisp air
i walk to the broken window
his head leans out the side
blood dripping down
the side of the bus
from his neck
i run my hand through
his hair
tiny glass shards
creating tiny cuts
in my steady grip
i wipe my fingertip
in the blood
and make a stripe
under each eye.
you want a war?
oh,
i'll make one.
YOU ARE READING
flecks of charisma
Poetry(old bad poetry don't read pls ahhh) flecks of charisma is a quintessential guide to not knowing how you're feeling, not knowing how to deal with it, but knowing how to adjust your life around it. some days are tough and some days can elongate into...
