My Burden

January 7, 2010
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I think that’s what it is

The bullets in my head

The letters that are not words

The words that are not thoughts

The silent screams
The debilitating cyclone

A six-letter word to describe the way I feel


Missiles and bombs

Grenades, mines
And nuclear weapons
Stock piled in my head
Ready to explode

On the count of three...

They blow
But after the smoke clears

It is still here

I guess that’s what it’s called

Acidic, lethal, throbbing

Eating me from the inside

But visible on the outside

Always there

When I go to sleep

Every time I stop

Even when I am going



A railroad through my head

Nonstop to nowhere

With no plans to cease

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