Words hit you like many swarming
Flies on a sticky summer afternoon.
Words fester under your very skin
Like wounds refusing to be healed.
They enter your eyes like dust specs
Filling them with lugubrious tears.
You gather them like small sea-shells
To empty the pocket and throw away
When you reach home from the beach.
Words grate like steel furniture being
Dragged on a dusty floor in the noon.
Words fill your tummy with nausea
Like the guts of a chasing dog run over
By a speeding truck on the highway.
Words  turn into a handful of dust.