A clipped voice,
Bland, I know.
I hate to
in a storm,
Because the wrong
How public speaking feels
I listen with stapled lips
My predator, prey, and companion
I don't know if it's safe to rip the silence out of me
I can't trust myself to move
So I sit as this black and silver storm cloud builds up inside me
Threatening to tear me to shreds if I continue to stay silent
And I stay silent
The words ache at the back of my throat
And I refuse to say them
Better to embrace my sticky metal suicide
Than the predator slash through my flesh and veins
Better to waste away in my lyric starvation
Than let a beast **** me
A metaphoric storyish proseish thingy.
Introductions are never easy.
Lungs rattle, relentless battle.
Loose phlegm, filling falling castles.
Under no pretense.
Moat; a barrier of defense.
Where voice is a drawbridge
Public speaking = My bane
— The End —