Think of the lass leaving for the harvest
Maybe she will be hauled off to their farmhouse,
Or maybe they will get her innards out of her body, there and then
When they ask her about her dreams
Or they talk about women who love catcalling,
Their disembowelment heaves to the sight
Their eyes overflow with the dreams of her vagina
They were searching for it around
A lust for psychological manipulation of masturbation
Washes over their dreams of things that match their level
She’d ask her father — how could you survive such swamps?
But he was just a troll.
Just one of them.
The testimony lay underneath the layers of eternities.
What horrible taste in people!
And the farm was drenched in the blood of labours.
I don’t know if she dreamt of places unlike that village but I did.
There’s a planet at the edge of the universe not unlike the earth in landscape and atmosphere.
But its inhabitants are not.
The post goes to ‘Sunday writing prompt‘ hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.