Poem: Pollenated Air Of Doom


It’s pollen time again,

Time for the screaming void—

To claim my eye-based friends,

And make them feel like they are goop,

Like melting,


Liquid soup.

The salt pours down my cheeks again,

Until they are blood red and flooded,

Until tomorrow, which sleep might undo,

The pain and suffering.

It’s springtime,

It’s those damn trees,

Don’t you see,

They will make my face melt to nothing,

Before the day is done.



I need to stop itching them so much.

Special thanks to: Melissa Potter

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