This Space of Violence
This space becomes a pressing malice
to which death rapes the beautiful girls
into submissive screaming.
There can’t be a breath of fresh pain
to suffocate this kindness.
Because life begins to die
as soon as the breathing stops.
I fume in the burning rage of salient slicing to which gages the envy.
Hate keeps the blood from staining my clothes because my clothes are my nakedness.
I feel not a pin prick in this gash that is my perversion .
Numbness cuts this distaste against this wall of bloody suicide.
So now my end is the beginning
for nothing in my words describes
the space of violence in my head.
Copyright © Matthew Robison | Year Posted 2008
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