Omen

it’s half past five

and he just arrived

with petrified roses

that used to thrive

in the sunlight

crinkly red

and ripping at the seems

my lungs choke

on the smoke

that erodes in his throat.

our house is falling,

the bricks lost

their will

to keep the windows

still

his breath

is skin tight

and my eye’s fight

from fluttering with fright.

oh, what a plight

but its half past seven

and now

i’ve arrived

Hello Heaven.

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