The After Life
The ghost carried me to the television
It was time for the morning news
Some sick bastard killed a young boy
And his pet bunny rabbits
I cried, being a ghost must be such a
Lonely mess.
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About Me
- SoMars: Literary Journal of Mayhem and Hysterics
- I am a librarian and a poet and trying to skyrocket into the literary stratosphere and into your bowl of cornflakes in the morning or onto the dirty screens of your laptops ipods and other media devices...
Micah Zevin
The Puppetmaster Poet
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