I’m often curious about a writer’s environment when inspiration hits to write a specific piece.  As for me, I penned this micropoetry while seated on a fluffy sofa in a doctor’s waiting room. I call this piece, “Poison”. I suppose it’s ironic to use poison as a poetic theme in an atmosphere that promotes health and remedy.

Poison

Your lips were poison.
Words spilled out and
flooded the ground.
I stepped into a pool of your
lies and drowned.

© theletterjay/theletterjay.com