People use words
like pieces of letters to crumble
and pass on to the next person.

They use it
like a candy wrapper
to be thrown away to the trash bin they’ll see
or hid it inside their pockets.

Often times, they’ll use it
like an engagement gift
like a diamond ring that glimmers
from the light of a midnight moon.

Other times, they’ll use it
as feces to be thrown
to other people’s mud filled face.

I use words differently:

1.
I use them like blades
slitting wrist and carving chest
trying to get inside
of the heart of my victim.

I use them like I’m a surgeon
filled with mistake
and my words are my scalpel:
a dire reflection of every blood I’ve wasted.

2.
I use them like hands:
strangling thick necks
with throats craving the taste
of air to flow down.

They longed to scream;
but I feel no vibration.

3.
I use them like grenades
with each blast is a realization
to damage their face grave;

with each word, a fire
to burn down their insides
and they cannot escape.

4.
I use them like chains
heavy metal shackles
to trap them for eternity
of a never passing guilt
they knew they never had fault with.

5.
I use them like candy gemstones:
with each word from my mouth
a sugar filled field dream:

a sweet gift to a crying child
on his fifth birthday.

I am my own sculptor
I carve words into poems
that make people bleed
through the insides.

And I know, I have far too many miles
to walk on broken glass to even regret every syllable.