Words the Colour of Bloodshot

They swell and stretch the lining of our stomach,

Swelling in a way that is unknown to the soul.

Paralyzing the peace in your head.

Begging to be shot into the throat

Where it will stay,

Muffled but loud.

Scraping against the larynx,

Plucking at the jugular vein,

Grinding against grit teeth,

Slicing at the once tender tongue

It comes like lava;

Burning all it touches.

Corroding the lips and liquefying your hate into the air

As you scream

As you prey,

As you dream,

As you play.

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

I haven't been in a place to read and articulate my thoughts on anything for a while. But tonight I find myself in a better place. And I came back to these words and find them very worthy of being read and remarked on. Those last four lines are particularly effective after that great lava-hot build-up of the rest of the poem.

Someone once said my words had power to do great things. Something about when my voice meets metal. One day, maybe, I will find that . . . until then, this is pretty close