Words

This is the first thing I have written in years.

Each word is like a pick axe

Pushing against my skin causing cracks,

Splinters deep in the foundations of myself.

Shaking,

It’s not easy to stand.

 

                                                                        Each word is a celebration

                                                                        Blissful, as if they physically touch me,

                                                                        With ties pulling the edges of my mouth up

                                                                        Intoxicated,

                                                                        It’s not easy to stand. 

The End

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