The Feeling

June 10, 2009
More by this author
shaken up by the screaming paranoia
that attacks when I can feel
those eyes looking into me

I gasp and struggle
to gain a satisfying breath,
but only inhale the forgotten smog of yesterday,
my lungs must be midnight-black,
one touch and the pleural charcoal
will flake away

a thousand voices reach my ears,
and none of them are lyrical,
all demanding, all uncaring,
I beg them to leave,
but when they do
I am a vacuum sealed
in a barrier of silence

the feeling is a skittering ant,
mercilessly crushed
beneath the heavy work boot of disregard,
until it gives up and dies

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback