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Seven Deadly Poems

By Madison DiMercurio All Rights Reserved ©

Poetry / Fantasy

Sloth

Derek’s heavy eyelids

cracked open,

and he could already hear his dry

eyeballs screaming.

Shutting his eye lashes quickly,

he moaned and felt a throbbing dizzy

sensation bounce from the base of his scull

to the middle of his forehead.

He tried opening his eyes slower this time

And glared at the bright red numbers

flashing on his clock.

The numbers floated left and right

for a second

or two

and then he thought he could read

3:15.

But the combination of the heavy pinball

bouncing off his brain, and eyeballs that burned

was making it hard to really know that it was

time to get up.

Derek scowled at the clock

trying to make his brain tell him the truth.

The lines were too blurry and the bright red

of the numbers didn’t help.

The time wavered between

3:16 now

and 8:16

then back again.

3:16

8:16

3:17

8:17

When he found no relief

after trying for several minutes

Derek moaned

and turned over

falling asleep.

He promised himself that he would check

the clock in ten minutes.

“Derek!”

Sarah’s voice drifted further down

the hall, and he could only hear the angry

and anxious tone that was ripping through

her vocal cords.

“Dammit, we’re going to be late!”

Derek’s eyes snapped open

and those ten minutes had turned

into thirty. “Shit.”

He had no time for a shower.

Instead he dressed haphazardly

as he continued to hear Sarah’s

tight vocal cords. It was clear the stress

of being late was causing tears

to quickly form.

“I’m coming!” He panted

trying to hurry for the sake of

Sarah’s fear. She hated being late

ever sense she understood the consequences.

Five minutes later Derek’s car

tires squealed in agony.

The whole way to campus

Sarah was tense,

ready to jump out at

the first sign that the destination came

into view.

“Sarah, I’m sorry!” Derek could hardly

get out before the car door was

slammed shut.

She nodded and

raced towards class.

Derek took the time to play the

guilt game, and tried to come up

with excuses. It was all

his fault.

If Derek hadn’t gone out

to drink, they would have made it.

Sarah would have had plenty of time.

If their father wasn’t ever violent

when he drank, if his mother never

married the bastard.

If Derek hadn’t ever killed anyone --

Sarah would have made it

to college.

A text message from one of his co-workers

brought him out of the hole

he was digging.

Immediately Derek happened to

glance at the date under the time.

Yeah, that was the reason why.

Derek’s chest tightened

and his knuckles turned white
on the steering wheel.

A car horn blared

behind him.

Derek tried to break through

the ice of today,

and rolled forward

trying to find a way

to live

through the next

twenty-four hours.

Fucking November 16th.

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