Step four to being me is finding everything that would normally be beautiful to be evil. To be a killer.
I saw the sun evaporate.
It slid down slow
and dissolved behind the mountains,
red to orange
to pink to
nothing.
The lake lapped at the mountain,
stroked it with its cool breath,
pleaded with the mountain
to go easy on the sun.
But the sky pushed down hard.
Any baby blue mercy it had
dissipated into dark,
evil force.
And the mountain devoured
while the lake begged
and sky pushed
red to orange
to pink to
nothing.
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damn liz. i love this. remember when we would sit on my bed with that pocket muse book and write little stories? im glad you want to write because youre good at it. And im glad you have this blog so I can read this one poem.
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