deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Storm In My Drink
"Thunder, thunder",
the old man mutters.
Suddenly it's hard to think.
"What did you put into my drink?!"
Cold, I lay down on the floor.
Paralyzed by the sound of a creaking door,
footsteps coming, they are not far.
I hang on tightly to a shooting star.
Under the big top the freaks are aplenty.
I just spent my last two pennies,
all the ballroom dances and private dollar screenings.
the old man mutters.
Suddenly it's hard to think.
"What did you put into my drink?!"
Cold, I lay down on the floor.
Paralyzed by the sound of a creaking door,
footsteps coming, they are not far.
I hang on tightly to a shooting star.
Under the big top the freaks are aplenty.
I just spent my last two pennies,
all the ballroom dances and private dollar screenings.
Published 22nd Jul 2012
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