Ball of Nails
A rumor’s like a ball of nails,
Of rusty nails,
Everywhere it rolls,
Everything it touches
Is impaled.
It doesn’t notice whom it distresses,
Just rolling recklessly
Over and over again,
Tearing skin, drawing blood,
Never cleaning up its messes.
And not even a tetanus shot
Can stop the cheeks burning hot,
The unsettling smiles and whispers,
The bleeding flesh,
Left alone to rot.
About the Contributor
Lauren Nagy, Editor
Lauren is a senior at Freehold High School, eager to be entering her third year as a writer for The Colonial's literary magazine and her second year as an editor. An avid reader, she is also a multi-instrumentalist and enjoys knitting when she can find the time. Despite her place in the Medical Sciences program, she foresees a career in neither medicine nor science - and would rather study English, creative writing, and music in college. If she wrote a novel that one day became a widely beloved classic, that would be pretty nice too.
