top of page
  • Skylar Pekarek


His pencil is trembling, drumming

a ceaseless best against the table.

The floor seems to be

pushing upward on his foot,

bouncing it as his mind

turns and twists and tumbles over him

as he searches and digs and claws

through his tired, panting brain,

for a savior, a saint, some sort of salvation,

an answer to a question

on a test that’s staring him in the face,

it’s I’s boring holes into him.

The walls, pulsating, and with every

shaky breath they take, they come in,

closer, crushing.

Recent Posts
Search By Tags
Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square
bottom of page