by Dawn M Williams
Walking through the double doors,
The scents of coffee, perfumes and various body odors
Cling to the skin and crawl up your nostrils.
Passing the cloak closet
Stuffed with fabrics and colors
That belay the wearers status.
Greeted by Crones caked in Whores magic
Topped with bright color to give the allusion
Ancient stares glare out from
Like angry/hungry wolves
Just waiting for the fledgling to falter
So they can tear at
Fragile walls built to protect,
Leaving you with nothing
But a cold hole
In the freezing snow.
Posted on 02/28/2019
Copyright © 2019 Dawn M Williams