Worry
It presses
Like a corset on my mind;
It is crumpled remains
Of an ancient fountain;
It is scraping iron
On brick;
It is the taste of a
Vinegar
Popsicle.
It is the smell
Of burnt popcorn;
It is the spirit being
Worn away.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Worry
It presses
Like a corset on my mind;
It is crumpled remains
Of an ancient fountain;
It is scraping iron
On brick;
It is the taste of a
Vinegar
Popsicle.
It is the smell
Of burnt popcorn;
It is the spirit being
Worn away.