Manic

You blew in with no warning and,

in typical fashion,

with your destructive, acerbic, tongue,

peeled the paint from off the walls,

and left me covered in the dust of

your destruction. 

So here I sit

trying to decide where to

begin picking up the pieces

leftover from the tirade.

Flip the switch.

The lamp is still on.

© K. Lynette Erwin, 2014

Mag 210