Taste of Language

Frank, that's what they call him, with a soul as red as fire, and a smell so pungent that the cries caused by it were so earth shattering that they could slice diamonds. The man that could make Satan cry in agony slowly makes his way towards my nostrils and the smell stings the inside of my nose; each molecule clinging to the tip of each nose hair with an unrelenting force. Upon sensing the fear from deep within my soul he makes his move for my mouth. Taking over control of my brain I choked down the thick syrup-like liquid. The pain seemed to numb my insides. The pain seemed to take over my whole being. The pain was too much to handle. With a convulsing like yelp the liquid that I just choked down was now coming back up. It tasted better on the way back up.

Poetry Puzzle

Normally, the promise of a Saturday liquid with sunshine draws him
But the smell of burning leaves stirs his memories
Yellow leaves burning unattended
Gangs of young men follow,
Enclosing a playground bare of equipment
Fences here are little more than fragments
He takes the hpahazard path
His safe reutrn will, degenerate to recriminations and apology
He is taking overtaken by sudden guilt he has left no mesesage for his wife
In the last voluntary movement of his life
He enters his home to see his unimpressed,
Concerned wife