Andi Leigh Writes

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Strung Bizarre

on April 22, 2024

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A web in nettle gives a ring.

A home where moths

Mistakingly cling.

Though dear spider lurks

Not so far—dewdrops

And blood are strung bizarre.

busy like blue lavender

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Start Graying

There is a split in the ocean. There is a bee in my chest. I wonder when I'll start graying Since I always seem so stressed. There is a meal left out cold. There are no answers to this test. I constantly worry about the future, Wondering what will be next. There is a secret amongst them. There are too many oppressed. I don't think we'll be able to fix it. We all just seem to crave rest.

Bored of Silence

What to do when there’s no sound. Not a drop of music in the air. Crystal clear void, stuffed in my ears. Restless worries don’t make good company. Yearning for a pin to drop, Causing an uproar in vacant space. Without even the hum from spinning blades, I tap my fingertips on marble to pass the time.

Possession in the House

Well, there’s a funny-looking fellow. Constantly staring, ready to bellow. Nothing at all could even happen, But this lad will start speaking Latin. Crawling up and down the walls, On all fours backward, in the hall. Scurrying fiercely while chanting too, He scares me, does he scare you? Foaming at the mouth and cursing, Not stopping his head from reversing. Won’t someone out there help this kid? Not one person is brave, instead, they hid. Yet every time he’d sniff and find, A hiding place then they’re out of time. Last I heard, he lives under his bed, Motionless unless he gets into your head. That’s when he’ll lock-on and hunt his prey. After hearing that, I wouldn’t want to stay. In this house? No, not at all. He is there, Muttering and retching up on the wall.

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