The Death of a Fly in the Library

A red couch with baked-in trivets.

The big black weary vagabond

lands breathlessly, unknowingly

awaiting its fated execution.

The green papered ax falls.

A silence echoes, which fades

into a malicious, yet

satisfactory giggle.

A small life stolen away

by a short-lived notebook,

pushed into the depths of grey.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741