Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: The Night

The night brings buzzing
little insects that burrow into ears and crawl across flesh
They surface when it’s quiet and dark
They don’t exist until the plague

The Moths descend in drones,
watch with silent faces from the window
Crickets laugh, rubbing legs raw
The night’s sticky skin bursts
open, and they pour in

Flies throw themselves against the wall, bang
bang their heads
The Mosquitoes gather,
wait to claim

The night is not mine
It belongs to a mind diseased,
grooved like the rotting peach stone

I skim and skim
the thick surface of the night’s soup
like a water-boatman
to clear the carpet of crawling carcasses only to find
the night is mine and the mind is
mine
d.

12/10/2014

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clairereiderman


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    1
    Favourite song covers
    Ma’am, this is a Wendy’s
  • Avatar Scott B
    2
    Favourite song covers
    Is this author 14 years old with absolutely zero knowledge on music? Has to be. Two out of three songs are irrelevant. Both by shitty bands. Who paid for this?…
  • Avatar theizzin
    3
    Should we mourn GCSE poetry?
    Wonderful article! Very insightful and brilliantly communicated. I wasn't aware of this issue before, but this article has really brought it to light for me. Thank you very much!
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