and i know why your hands shake when you touch me, but i would die before i let myself hurt youMature

A collection of poems and "prosetry" for my "write every day (or nearly) for the entire year" project, titled ORPHIC. Beginning January 1, 2015.
Beginning this year, prompt response pieces will be listed elsewhere.
Ratings will be disabled if things are rated down by ghost readers. Criticism is more than welcome (I can take it, I have thick skin) so leave your thoughts.

I am a mouth full of carpentry nails
and blood and the dust that’s settled
in the back of my throat from all of this
construction. All of this rebuilding and
remodeling. In the morning I spit them out
but they grow back while I’m at work, 
while I’m on the bus, while I’m doing things 
other people do without all these drywall nails 
stabbing at the backs of their teeth - but I
do not know that they do not suffer
as I do. I am an Improvised Explosive Device
and I have not found my trigger or my trip wire.
I think I might be a daisy chain but I do not know
my neighbors, I do not know who I am targeting.
I do not even know what I am made of, but
I know what I am because I taste metal in everything
and I can feel the quakes down the line,
vibrating up like physical echoes, and I can smell
the smoke and I can recognize the fires in the distance
burning just as wild as my heart feels and inside,
I am all held breath and anticipation, thinking,
this is it, this is it, this is it, this is it,
this is it, this is it, this is it,
this is it.

The End

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