Quickly Forget
The dirt clings-
Stop grabbing on
To this sickened bowl.
Grime sinks its teeth,
Bites,
And releases venom water
Into this blood-filled bowl.
Chattering hatches
And playing ducklings,
Hold their innocence in their cups,
They drink the pure imagination
That cocoons their minds.
Cut a piece and pulverise it,
Colours float in the bowl.
Menacing silver
Slice thin pieces
Of this torn skin.
I crack my ankles
And run out of this skin.
A shriek and my throat jolts,
The flesh is out
And I am free.
Shots of tapping feet,
Cannons of broken arguments,
And cries of grazed knees,
Lure my mind;
The scent intoxicating and metallic
It grabs, holds and kisses my lips
I lean in,
And I’m shoved in the mud,
Clamouring sheep dig into this skin,
There is no escape,
I am surrounded by their forgotten reality,
Yet still I see,
That dirty, blood-filled, sickened bowl.
I curse you,
Go back to that soap,
Back to the water,
And clean yourself from this snippet of misery
That you cling on to so dearly.
Copyright ©
Tyra Litten
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