Sinewed hands grab my shoulders, shove me sideways down unfamiliar streets.

Glowing in the distant dark there shimmers a landed mermaid, enchanting, enticing,

Melting in the tarnished silver spoon I wasn’t born with.

Burns my hands. Burns my veins.

Soundless, the world is ash.

44 words (quadrille) for d’Verse. Prompt word: burn


11 thoughts on “Damage

  1. The needle and the damage done. I love the image of that shimmering mermaid melting in that tarnished silver spoon–and when I say “love,” I mean it nibbles away at my guts and gives my tear ducts a good poke with a sharp stick, and then those last three lines finish the job with a bang. (Apologies for the bucket of incongruent metaphors.)

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