Sometimes
I hear the car horn in the distance
Monotone with my heart beat
Catching rhythm
Loosening the knots
By the edge of rocks
I hear the knuckle
The against
The rubbing
Then the fire
Sometimes
Early in the morning
I hear the lonesome driver
Heading somewhere
Speeding in the badly lit street
Never fearful of what might come
The burning of tire
Screeching, hydroplaning
Then skidding
Into black
Sometimes
I see myself
My skin pores tense
Holding onto worry
Eyes staring at the screen
My hands relaying the workings of my insides
Waiting for the next tap
Waiting for the next line
Waiting till I can finally….
Tag Archives: african writing
Melting
In the dead of winter,
my insides
keep burning
In the white ash,
my demons shrieking
SIMPLE WORLD 