NAPATSORN TREESAP

She’s under cover, saying she’s over 
Strawberry jam all over her flowers
He gave it to her 
But instead of strawberry jam all over 
He painted blood in red hanging that deadly bird— O’ Laura, don’t be that jerk sellers 
Behind her hollow haunted house 
He puts a gun in the grave of her father and her son
Her aunt and her mum
Flashing the time triggers her mind 
Her closet thought‘s hiding behind those ghosts
Hummingbirds sing morning letters
Sunday is quite hot under your dead hometown sun 
Put makeup on— O’ hell no where’s your necklace huh
Now they know you just have only a rope on
Sweet mellow torture pillow in your coffin— mourn
O’ hell no, I bring a flower and fire
 Burning
       In your egoistic calm 

 © 2024 Napatsorn Treesap