Hello PoetryVoting

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

Vote

Voting-Boards

Home

HomeFollowingInboxNotifications

Read

ReadLiftedFeedsHeartedHistoryMy poemsNew poem

Explore

ExploreOrbitsWordsTagsClassics
Log in
0
Stars
0
Embers
0
Alerts
0
Inbox

My Smoky Blade

My anxiety is the dream of a knife

almost a romantic fantasy of something physical that

could cause me the pain or discomfort that really

is just coming from my self

from some thought that I’ve swallowed or stumbled into or onto and now it’s mine

I cannot escape it.

 

Now it’s my burden and the choices are

to feast on it

or to ignore it until its white noise boiling on the backburner is all but a noose around my neck.

 

The laughable, socially acceptable third option is of course

the bottle of red or

the little white pill

from the purple bottle

exchanged from the pink slip

handed over by a worried lip.

Request permission to use this poem
Written by
katie-hill
American
Published
Jan 14, 2014
Lines·Words
15·115
Notes

I envy people who check their Gmail inboxes without wincing at the potential onslaught. I get more disappointing e mails from Sephora and the Container Store than I ever do from disappointed fellow humans, but I’m sure most of the disappointed fellow humans are just too polite to write.

Permission

Request to use this poem

Tell katie-hill how you would like to use it. We review requests before forwarding them.

AboutBlogFAQPrivacyTermsContact
© 2009-2026 Hello Poetry/v27.0 by @eliotyork
Explore
Hello PoetryVoting
Write