Treasure Island

Emily Beck


Insects


You are the apple to my insect
Deep beneath your rhine and flesh
Festering within your core
Eating away at your only seed.
Glinting off your shinning skin
Flecks of electric white
Dashing dots across the landscape
Like a crystal ball.
Swirling around a twelve hour shift
Reaching out to grab the dirt and grime
Crushed within your timid hands,
Clawing at the surface escaping from the flecks.
A feeble attempt to escape the flies
Now sucking away at your insides.
The moon can't cast shadows across the surface
Of your rotted epidermis anymore.

Submitted: Monday, March 25, 2013

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