Stop playing on the iPad and try something new
A single speck of iridescence fills a bubble of space,
Flooding
A smooth
Garnished surface like a spotlight
On a dark stage.
Paper rustles, itching to be free, through
The gaping
Mouth of dark nothing, still
Yawning as the day
Turns.
A sturdy paperweight of flesh slams upon the
White cream cardstock,
Rolls of fat
Filling in the
Concave,
Pale white knuckles peaking
Through the layer
Of blubber as the other
A suffocating
Fist, the way her mom always told her not to.
From the tunnel emerges
A tip as short and stubby as that of her
Seeping
Fingers,
new crayola box just last week.
Now the night creatures blew cold gusts of breath from their grimy mouths sending the black fringed curtain to fly from her forehead
With
Red eyes and puckered lips,
She carves
Each stroke
In increasing speed black horse
Riding through the sandstorm
From her side the rider reveals her final weapon in a flourishing
Wave before stabbing the sharp prongs of
The javelin
Into the heart
Of the beast
Again and again again and again
nothing but a white carcass and an angry pool of
Red
Billowing in the desert wind.
So this is her idea of fun?