an inner island


of snaky trees

wriggling upwards

to the canopy

where the light

is cast in shadows

the rocks, on that forsaken shore


curious ships

frigates, that think

they can test

her waters.

the island was born from hell

lava, boiling, gassing, cutting

with obsidian glass

an abomination, of the deep.


on her shore

gradually go mad in the sun

their shadows, don’t belong to them

their faces, are twisted

their words, belong to someone else

the longer they listen

the longer they hear


Any shelter

built there

is not a shelter

it is a confining prison.

though many find the island, and believe it’s paradise

they quickly become thirsty, blistered, and bitten

by mosquitoes that suck the blood from marine life.

Few leave the island

many try, but the tides push them back

Some, build life rafts

but they always sink

it takes a strong swimmer, to keep swimming

it takes a death wish

it takes something, nobody has

never to look back

at that place

condemned to brimstone

the salt burning the open sores

a pillar, like a lighthouse

without any light in it.

the lapping, laughing waves

so beautiful

a vacation spot

never go there

erase the island from the map

it would be better to drown

lost at sea

than move inland

where the goats stare at you

with red eyes

and bahhhhh.

4 thoughts on “the goats with red eyes

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