I don’t know
What to think
Where this path
Will lead
I feel like the monkeys
Hands clasped
Over my ears
Words squeezing
In the tiny cracks
Of my fingers
Palms pushing
Into my eye sockets
Tears dripping
Forced from
The corners of my eyes
Fists pressed firmly
My teeth
Cutting into my lips
As the words
Flow down my chin
Formed in blood
This isn’t a game
Swinging from tail
To tail
Or a quaint little sculpture
Sitting on a cozy
Fireplace mantel
I wish I could
Tear my eyes away
And not hear
The screams
Coming up from
My chest
And the gurgling
Sound of my
Rotting mouth
Uttering words
I can’t explain
Like an ancient diatribe
From outside in
Taunting and railing
There is no more
Time ticks down
The heaviness has
Got me in its grasps
I am no monkey
I am no more
that’s really good, creatively speaking
Thank you! I appreciate your comment
do you have more poetry, I would like to read more
That’s really good! I like the way you relate to the monkeys of making the motion of putting their hands over their mouths, eyes, ears. Like, “don’t see, don’t hear, don’t speak.”
It made me think of this:
I write a lot. I’ll post a few more
Thanks! Usually my poems come to me easily. This one took awhile.
It’s graphic and slightly self destructive, but still good. good topic.
I’m sure it will pass on here too.
Wish my thoughts on toilet art would.
Thanks! I appreciate for your words
That was really good @FatMama.
I liked it!
Thank you very much
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