Flop HouseA Poem by PeteSmashed dreams neatly arranged on grungy shelves. Cantankerous curtains of outdated newspaper and old box tape. Callous cots of bronchial bedbugs. Cuniculture of dust bunnies. Gangrenous graffiti scrawled on wailing walls of woe. Abandoned, abject, abhorrent abode. Devoid of hope and happiness. The sound of screams and doors slamming off in the distance. Mufflerless cars passing by spewing carcinogenic fumes. The scent of cigarette smoke, body odor and urine permeating the air like pathogenic perfume. Pill containers lined up like medicinal monuments. Empty booze bottles clanking as they roll around worn floors. Faineant, faded, fatigued flagons of firewater. Beer cans cracking like crusty castanets. Peeling paint lacking pigment. Slivered wood shavings hanging from dejected door jambs. Nails protruding like knives to the heart. Greasy, fried chicken fingerprints on fortresses of fornication. Spent condoms and syringes strewn about the hallways and stairs. Blank, confused faces. Decaying life. Belligerent belching. Lost souls walking the halls searching for explanations. Vampish vomitorium. Nausea to the North. Spitting to the South. Ebullition to the East. Wretching to the West. Palpitant pergatory. End of the line. If you play your callous cards right, you could end up in ... the flop house ... © 2020 PeteFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
322 Views
6 Reviews Added on April 1, 2017 Last Updated on April 28, 2020 AuthorPeteBoston, MAAboutI love reading, writing, music, nature, God and feeling emotion, not necessarily in that order. To me, these things go hand in hand. My favorite writer is Henry David Thoreau. I think he was a geni.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|