As black as coal,
With acne, the golf-sized ball,
Ugliness personified,
She's hideous Annie.

Punctual to the 'T'
Each day at her morgue office,
Uncomfortable with those itching acne,
Underneath her clothes, full sleeved.

Ready to punch those,
Who at her, mocked...
Sit in one corner,
Observe would she,
At those who talked.

She hated everyone,
Everyone hated her,
It was mutual...
Gossip and bitch about her,
In the premises,
It was usual.

While her life was
Dull and boring,
She had a secret
Too exciting...
When all left for their homes,
After office hours,
She'd arrive and ride the dead,
Till morning hours.


Read Annie's story - Here
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Copyright 2013 © Nandini Deka

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  1. Wow...great poem. I am so glad that my story inspired you enough to write a poem on it :)


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