It happened again this morning.
And sometimes I think,
            ‘your words
into my heart.’
My adder tongue rests in my mouth
as I refuse to turn
my rage on you like the Ripper’s blade. Splitting
a chasm deeper than these years of erosion. Yet the river 
of your tongue flows,
source to sea. And I wonder
what have I done
to fill you with such malice
what can I do
to set you free from the gilded anger
you horde in your dragon’s cave heart?  But with each spring
of rage, I know
I grow closer to drowning.

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This entry was posted on May 15, 2013 by in Poetry, Serial Addiction -- Your Weekly Read and tagged , , , , , .

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