Pisaries Creator

The second time I woke up,

I heard him call my name from above.

He asked me,

“what the hell you doin’ down there?”

I yelled undecipherable sounds and nothing else.

He shouted back,

“spit the marbles out.”

There were many times I wished I had marbles to throw.

I grabbed my yo-yo and chucked it down the stairs.

Maybe it would hit him in the temple,

give him that terrible headache instead of me.

Make him wish. Make him dead.

I will gladly bury him.

Getting louder, getting closer, he moved like a

stampede of rhinos.

I find no comfort when he asked me,

“what’s wrong now?”