I’m drowning
in antiseptic apologies,
clever words disguising
a poisoned tongue,
your tongue,
laced with hydrofluoric acid that,
at first,
cuts with no bite.
But bitter words leave bitter wounds.
And they fester,
until your blood and bone burn
and they become your very being.
It’s a barbed wire tongue
that lashes and cuts,
wrapping around a mind
until it’s yours,
you’ve won,
nothing exists.
Except empty apologies,
flawed balms,
and twisted words that become true.

Podunk Pirate

I wanted to be a writer.
A no-holds-bar,
every word counts,
change the world writer.
I admired the greats,
the worlds they built,
the way their sentences flowed
and ended.

But now I’m a podunk pirate,
pilfering phrases and words to create
half-baked plot points
and struggling prose,
poetry falling flat,
falling deaf,
flowing wrong.
I’m stealing the English language
to twist it
and spin it
to make it mine
for now.