by ANNA SYKORA
|
the girl's fine bones that wore his chains grew bent and thick beneath the load her wistful gaze grew dim and cold her voice got harsh and hot and mean the years revolved in servitude as he gave neither praise nor blame she but a shadow or a tool no helper with a heart or name but on the night at last she broke a cleaver in his skull that boiled up in blood and pus she shouted at his draining eyes master you have made me thus |
Anna Sykora has been an attorney in NYC and teacher of English in Germany, where she resides with her patient husband and three enormous cats. To date she has placed 355 poems and 133 tales, mostly genre, in the small press. Writing is her joy. Motto: eat your rejections like pretzels.
The authors published at HelloHorror retain all rights to their work. For permission to quote from a particular piece, or to reprint, contact the editors who will forward the request. All content on the web site is protected under copyright law.