I write the kind of poetry
That gets stuck to the roof of your mouth
That you'll choke on as you swallow down.

I write the kind of poetry
that once you recite,
Sets your oesophagus ablaze,
leaves you burning around the edges
but still staring in amaze.
engulfed in flames for
years not days.

I write the kind of poetry
That you'll spend centuries
Trying to extract from the
Ringing in your ears
As the dangerous impacts
Only grow
And in you, bellow.

I write the kind of poetry
that gets embedded deep within your fingertips
and buries itself securely under your skin
The kind of poetry you'd rip yourself to shreds
In an attempt to
Tear apart, dislodge
Each stanza circling
within.

I write the kind of poetry
You could try to wash
off a thousand times
But that remains engraved
Deep within the wrinkles and lines
The creases of your mind.