the taste of elements.
i shudder at the tingle of
crimson, iron-laden
lifewater that seeps
slowly out the strong
impressions my teeth made;
pressure cracks
of forced reluctance,
keeping Broca* from
forming the words
my mind urges me to say.
I punish the facilitator of my language
because it needs not always to
follow my brain's will.
I punish my mind because of the pain
these words may cause, the stinging of
those words relayed to the
origin by biting my tongue,
therefore, internalizing the verbal pain
that sometimes i WISH i can
inflict on their targets.
so, i have to feel the sharp stabbing,
forever display the marks of a potential sin lost
in transmission,
and
create a lie in order to not slay you
with my tongue.
even one LITTLE word...
and you wouldn't survive this Gatling attack.
Sin still wins, yet
you advance on.
i care WAY too much.
*Broca's area, which is a specific area of the brain that aids in speech production.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment