I can’t write for fear of a broken tongue, burning as a
Spiraling monster spilling out confused thoughts;
Ideas traveling from top of head to roof of mouth
Why speak when the noise is heavy, serving only as a
Constant reminder of fragile ears hearing rumors;
Weighted down truth from what is and what isn’t
Maybe blinded eyes see more than what we perceive of them
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Where do you house your hate?
To be pulled out when needed
To lose mouth for virtue of wit
Or, what you choose to believe as such…
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I slipped on the edge and fell
Down into the hole of hell
No one dares to look into the well
Claiming innocents of ourselves
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To read is to acknowledge The Others, controlled as
Writers in waiting to avoid the contact with oily flesh;
Skin’s difference of one person vs the next
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Hate
I feel it beat
Break, burn, bleed
The heart is weak
Greed
It’s not me
I am healthy
How disgusting
Anger
Or is it despair?
I wander aimlessly
Deciphering the difference
Hope
Always constant
Perhaps a bit cynical
But it’s there