There is violence inside of me
drawing words on my tongue
they go down my throat like blades
I could cut the world into pieces
with my sharpened neurosis
how long can I keep it within
my face contorting
trying to be what the world wants to see
while the butcher inside my head dices and slices
death a thousand times and more
born from love, carved into hate.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s