I wrap straw into effigy,
a guise of betrayal,
a fire writhing to ash.

I pull log after log
from a basket
feeding into deplorable rage.

I like to think I tried,
that I championed
for a righteous cause
but in the end
there can be no us.

Winter remains a vestige
to a faltering spring
and within that aberrant whiteness
I find little warmth.

However, I adjust myself
the dye still bleeds from my veins.
So I smite thee, my mortified self.



6 thoughts on “Wordle #266

  1. I know you’re angry and hurt here, but I’m so sorry to say that I can’t stop myself from giggling over this:

    “I pull log after log
    from a basket

    Surely you know what I see. 🙂 And I’m sorry!!!

    I LOVE this: “a fire writhing to ash”

    Have you ever noticed how the close the word “championed” is to “champagned”? “Champ-pained.”

    Do you know how much it hurts
    for my brain to work like this???

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