words razorsharp

To those sensitive loving souls who take it all in.

Razor sharp
And icy steel
Slicing abdomens
As they are
In a breath
Of singing fire
Power and glory
Thorny roses
Stuffed into the ears
Of the audience
Too quiet
They listen
In pain
Clenched teeth
Teardrops rolling
Scarlet red
Thick and syrupy
“hit me,” I say, “hit me!”
and the torrential rains
of punishing vowels, consonants
intended to sever,
to separate,
a heart
with white glory
sunshine and dew
cool and crisp
those words continue
to cut away

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