The Dead Worm

Well, hello there, candy addicts. Been a while since I posted some poetry. So, here's a bonus post! Vastly appropriate, regarding the Washington, DC weather.

Indeed it is a skinny death, without the

bend of bone,
When tears have splashed their meager

life upon the empty stone.
To wither and concave oneself in the

shadow of wrinkled earth.
And be sucked and crinkled to a soaked brown,

from the beating red of birth.

The dead worm -- Anika Ismel