5. How They Were

He treated her differently, like a typhoon in a blizzard,
It was choosing between wrong and writing the imbalance,
Compromising rationality,
Compressing our skin into teeth,
The teeth that he used to consume us.

Just as the scribbling had cursed us,
Cursed us with a reason to rhyme, with words of no reason at all.

(A slower decay at the mouth, and not at the eyes)

The atrocity bled into me like a damned bullet,
Fleeing it's survivor like a bat from the caves dark shot of gloom,
Bloated and choked full of a starshine crowd of eyes,
Blinking back gunfire on the lips that spoke these words;
"The junction is yours..."

The End

82 comments about this poem Feed