Slowly, it starts.
Boiling,
Rising,
Seeping through the cracks. With heart
clawing up my throat,
you dance on the tip of my tongue;
your voice 'round mine like flesh on bone.
With your reflection sewn to my feet I cannot escape you.
You are weaved fabric from a familiar land;
a veil that strangles and blinds.
But there will come a time
when I will bite your silver tongue from my mind;
f l a y
y o u r
s k i n
from my bones.
I will be heard
(the ringing in your ear)
"You were never welcome here."
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:17 PM UTC
Slowly, it starts.
Boiling,
Rising,
Seeping through the cracks. With heart
clawing up my throat,
you dance on the tip of my tongue;
your voice 'round mine like flesh on bone.
With your reflection sewn to my feet I cannot escape you.
You are weaved fabric from a familiar land;
a veil that strangles and blinds.
But there will come a time
when I will bite your silver tongue from my mind;
f l a y
y o u r
s k i n
from my bones.
I will be heard
(the ringing in your ear)
"You were never welcome here."
The voice in your head can be beaten.
