The Smell of Burning Socks
It fell too fast.
What could they do?
It crumbled the walls.
Where could they hide?
They look up and see the gaze
of this spiraling eye with death inside.
Now all that’s left is a broken chair
never to see how it tilts and rocks.
A far memory of the lives we had
And the faint smell of burning socks.
Copyright © Emma Kaprielian | Year Posted 2025
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