Pisaries Creator

Dirty feet make a dirty soul wither.

The oval shape of his head
twisted in the wind.
The ways his eyes stare back
like a dead cat.

There is emptiness in the skull.
Two days previous her lips were pink,
now they are turning yellow.

Emptiness surrounds the house.

The pain reliever wore off.
One last time the ringing started.
The light above got brighter.
She heard the call of him far away.

This is nothing but a reaction.

Everybody is a fool meeting there.
Their fates make them uncomfortable,
and fear consumes their bodies.

The end with tiny pieces covering grass.

Worms do not care what they crawl over,
a part of the face, a part of the body,
the inner nostril or ear lobe or eyeball,
they only know decay and hooks.

Dirty hands do not have broken elbows.

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