Cold Chili

Feeling self-conscious and uninspired.

I’m left alone

Eating cold chili.

The acrid burns—

I mean, the acid does.

 

It’s torrential,

Forever pleading;

I don’t swallow,

But take another.

 

Peppered stains won’t

Come out of my notes;

Why did I put

My bowl there again?

 

Sighs fall like lead

Unto my fingers;

Discrepancies

Away, unguarded.

 

Just puke the

Sucker

Out.

 

 

Reviews

[Caitlin Lea]

This poem reads complex simplicity. I quite like it...partly because it grosses me out...ha. Successful imagery going on.

Some of your word choices are very interesting, indeed. The most obvious being:

"The acrid burns—
I mean, the acid does."

Obviously intentional...quite thought-provoking.

Also curious was:

"Sighs fall like lead
Unto my fingers;"

Why the word "unto" instead of "onto?"

You have given me things to ponder...nice work! ;-D