My skull is beneath a giant’s heel
He rocks it leisurely back and forth
Across the clouded, chewed cement
Taunting, tempting and teasing me

A pressure has been culminating for decades

He bellows gleefully, foot poised just so
His titanic weight balances precariously
Above the weak skin shielding my temple
Smile wide, he depresses experimentally

Pain trickles through clenched, grinding teeth

It is whimsy to him, my life, my lucidity
Just something he can play with at will
While I can barely see or hear anymore
The giant Foxtrots atop my eyes and ears

Spittle leaks from miserable, bile-filled cheeks

There is bloodlust in his bulging limbs now
He tastes the terror licking behind my mind
A birdlike skull such as mine is merely dust
In the momentum of a heavy, cobbled boot

A soul ruptures, and one thousand screams flee


Lannie Stabile likens the process of creative writing to spanking ketchup:  grueling, but necessary.  More works can be found in Monstering, Cellar Roots, Westland Writes, The Knight’s Library, and Wet Electric Blanket. You can find her on Twitter @LanniePenland.