Old Words
A quick poem about words in the past.
The words stick to my ribs.
They glue my diaphragm to exhaled lungs.
Breath won't come.
.
They fill my stomach with acid.
I can't vomit them up, can't move them through.
They rot inside my guts.
.
The words are old
But festering wounds do not clean themselves with time.
They devour, they kill.
.
These words are killing me then.
They are wrapping delicate hands around my throat
And squeezing.
.
The words have gone fuzzy though
And I cannot tell if it is because I am losing my mind
Or if I am finally succumbing to them.
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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Comments (3)
So sad and powerful.
Potent language about the potency of language!
Woah! I felt the pain and discomfort of this line so strongly “They glue my diaphragm to exhaled lungs”. Words are so powerful and you really captured their lasting impact in this