Tonight's Poet Corner: Orange
Orange by Belinda Roddie Honestly, I thought sunsets were meant to be beautiful. Instead, the streaks across the once pristine sky made me sick to my stomach and formed crystal around my already tired eyes. Sunsets were when Father barbecued, and I drank iced tea with Mother, and I didn't have to worry one second about the next day, or the day after that, or my own fucking mortality.
