My tongue is a balloon
Swelling and swelling
Until it
-[bursts!]-
In my mouth
& I can no longer speak.
Hold on…
I lied.
My tongue is not a balloon at all.
It is a muscle.
A muscle that aches every day
With the things it must hold inside.
Obscenities & endearments slip past it
And flow freely from my cracked, besmeared lips.
But some things,
Some little dark things,
Cannot slip.
Instead,
They crawl, they stagger, they lurch about.
They poison my poor tongue
As the brave soldier stands his ground.
These are the things I cannot
Will not.
Shall not.
Should not.
Say
[& Each day they whisper sick somethings
& moan sweet nothings
Until I am overcome]
But still my tongue does not give up.
Weakly,
My eyes let these Things leak away
They trace ruin down my cheeks
As they flow unstoppingly.
These Things I cannot say
.
.
.
.
.
.
[GodImScared.]
Author notes
Written 26.10.08
A contest entry
- this is an interview. by Diseased Mind.
700 points, ended October 30, 2008, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
But some things,
Some little dark things,
Cannot slip.
Instead,
They crawl, they stagger, they lurch about.
They poison my poor tongue
As the brave soldier stands his ground.
this is great. i love the honesty in this.
i find myself feeling like this.
its like you read my thoughts
and created a stunning poem out of them.
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