Treasure Island

Emily Beck


Y


I have observed a thousand faces.
The way they move and carry
Their heavy sac of flesh.
Who they truly are.
Slumped over in neutrality,
Arched in denial.
Simplistic, redcurrant, predictable.

But bubbling faces of laughter
Explode amongst the crowd.
Those with faces I cannot grasp
Seeming to have absolutely no grip
On reality.

They are so far removed,
With taunting phrases,
Built only to maim and kill
The victim in a prolonged manner.
With pure disregard;
Blasting music with familiar beats,
He said/ she said typical arguments
Eating away at my ear drums.
Gnawing up through to my brain.

Taking hold like a spider
Sinking his fangs into it.
Turning it into slush
To be slurped up by the masses.
They spew incandescent bile
That illuminates the streets and towns.
Beginning to digest it
Into a stomach of apathy.

Submitted: Monday, March 25, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 31, 2013

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  • Sandy Player (3/25/2013 6:02:00 PM)

    Powerfully discontent. The 1st paragraph is my favourite with it's dismissal of the conventional, unthinking grey crowd. The tone is almost arrogant in a way. I like that, it shows something different; just a bit more cold than the rest. (Report) Reply

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