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Regurgitating visceral insults
and spewing out vile barbs.
A danger to all around.
A pipe bomb,
building,
inculcating,
and storing away
immense pressure
until I
e x p l o d e.
And you will see me for the destructive force I truly am.
I am mlre  dangerous than you know
bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits
they are the only ones that stay
if you give a kid a match
they will learn to start a fire.
sitting in the shower,
pellets of rains sculpting despondent
woes.
the melting faucet,
the oppressive mist
the calescent tears.
you barely notice the water rising.
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the toxicity of my own sentiments
is viscerally disgusting,
i know I deserve death

i'm a chainsaw upon trees,
oil upon oceans,
shadow upon shade


my thoughts are grueling
and the world is yelling,
‘do not take another breath'

so once i think my last thought
and write my last stanza
the world will still turn, unswayed.
i know I deserve death
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
Maybe.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.
I wish I could be the moon
Elizabeth Zenk Dec 2018
the way to numb the pain.
love is the novocaine,
the laughing gas,
the painkillers.
the mind melters
it takes your greatest aches and lets them disintegrate.
once love leaves, it decimates.
it decimates
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