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Submitted by quogan on 11 May 2008 - 10:41pm.
Style / Type:
freeform
There’s a man at the bus stop
He’s burning
warped by the curls of the fumes
He coughs
Expelling an ink black smoke
Everyone around him sidles away
He looks at his watch
The seconds ticking by
Towards the inevitable
He’s rasping now
Face blackened
Eyes popping
Swaying on the axis the chair
Searching for someone to help
Their eyes turn down
Blind to he grotesque
Play in front of them
The light brown hair of his scalp
Drying and curling
Skin
Steaming and cracking
Eyes
Black and boiling
His moth opens in a scream
All that’s left of his tounge
Alump of charcoal
He’s dead
Where there was a face
Is ash
Smouldering ash
How was my language use?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
I wrote this in the middle of a class at School, so there may be a couple of errors
(1 vote)
Great imagery
Smiles:)
Barbara
what happen? did he burn alive?