Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2015
I think the trees are walking, their gnarled roots groaning like the oldest of bones, their branches puncturing the sky. Just outside minding my own business when a thick slime started falling from the sky in staggered increments. The sense of surreal normalcy is still hanging over me. At any moment I expect the walls to peel away and reveal a vast ocean of space. The illusion that illusion can be transcendentΒ Β .
Odette Malise
Written by
Odette Malise
585
   unknown and Andrew Gale
Please log in to view and add comments on poems