malice stays on my shoulder
i let it reach my tongue
then chew it till the snow falls
and I spit it out back into my shoulder
there is a gusto for spitting on the visage
the crimson splitting visage
the visage that presumes closets to be my existence
i'm being polite
but the malice on my shoulder
is being bitterer day after day
i better spit it on the visage
before the hemlock flies me away
for being too polite
No comments:
Post a Comment