poetry

Jack-O-Lantern

By Amy Thomson

Empty days, hollowed mind.
Wind up doll:
Wake, work, waste, weep.

White shards pierce monotony,
cold sweats drench peace.

Blue sea blanket,
cold comfort.

Guts scooped out
by social conventions.

Society’s Jack-O-Lantern,
carved, polite smiles,
“I’m good, how are you?”

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