Words formed of love, formed of
hate; made from having to
get up out of bed in the early
morning: dragged from the
warmth ready to despise
the long day ahead. It is the
bile that rises with it,
spitting at all who come
too close, too friendly, and
far too loud to stand by.
They clamber about when
all that is wanted is the deep
silence; peace with no
distinct possibility of ending
when reality retakes
hold, yanking one by the
throat, its breath is warm on
the face, as the eyes gaze
up at the hardened world
we have to live in.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.