Cumbersome words, black and unwieldy,
sharp and sticky, they set like cement,
hindering the fluid flow of my progress.
I am aware of the faint murmur of my answer
as it bypasses my senses and emerges fully formed
- tumbling haphazardly from my lips like rain.
And I want to run - full pelt - away from the intensity,
away from the looming insanity, the spitting shadows,
but inertia gone, my body is reluctant to move.
For I fear I may disturb the dense atmosphere,
I am afraid I may finally lose my place on the map. . .
a stray bullet ricocheting off the smoke stained walls.
So I stay put, fixed to the spot, petrified in my place.
Entranced by the slow motion movement of his mouth
as it carefully enunciates the words I never wanted to hear.
Written for the sunday whirl using the words below.
Image - Susannah Bec
Sunday, 5 February 2012
I see her petulant mouth,
pink, pursed, and pouting,
as she lifts the heavy latch.
I wince in sharp anticipation
of the metallic clang as it falls. . .
a klaxon announcing her departure.
Her flashing eyes full of fire,
a last steely dart of rebellion
before she storms outside. . .
into the vermillion twilight,
her staccato heels echoing
down the bloodshot sidewalk.
Such a harsh,
to accompany her exile.
Spun gold hair billows
as she burns bridges,
and ruins best laid plans.
will pick at the scar,
the crusty scab that would never heal.
The one that fuses the dubious union
that spawned and raised her up.
She stayed and she survived.
Until the house got too tight
and she feared she might die
- suffocate in its bitterness.
And I still see her petulant mouth
as she opened the latch
- and left.
Written for the Sunday Whirl - wordle 42 - using all of the words.
This collection of words bought forward this story. I love how these wordles do that! :-)