When I breathe, my mouth tastes just like metal.
I feel dark somethings roiling up inside.
And so I wait in hopes that it might settle,
So no one might imply I haven’t tried.

There is some poison lives within my soul.
And it has bred and hatched and grown full well.
So whilst it grows, my heart burns black as coal,
These things I say will damn me sure to hell.

This pressure – ribs and skull – will make me burst.
And what leaks out, the Devil only knows.
What started “bad” will surely turn to “worst.”
What greater good does this dilemma pose?

How easy, then, to pluck a knife?
A few quick strokes, to ease the strife.

(2012)

ATC by the Author, 2011.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: