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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Written to be a Spoken word poem that, in actuality, will never have a voice. Some things are better left that way. It was written in the heat of the moment.

Submitted: September 07, 2016

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Submitted: September 07, 2016



Regurgitating. Your words rise up like bile in my throat. Fighting back the tears as I try to swallow it back.

 The lump of you in my throat is choking. Gagging. Restricting.  My Breathing.


Every organ in my entire body is being wrung out like a wet rag,  Drip.....Drip

 Squeezing and tightening. Twisting and pulsing -


Under the pressure and weight of the lead brick You dropped on my chest when I hit the ground

* I feel as though I am made of nuts and bolts, Pipes and screws, A Boiler.

 Most likely to erupt because I cannot take this FUCKING PRESSURE anymore.. But You're not even here... The weight should be lifted.

Yet I lie here still, Struggling like a worm wriggling hopelessly on a gravel path, Attempting to make its way to cleaner less tainted soil.

* Time to heal. Time to feel. * I can't lie here helplessly forever. I'll have to die at some point.

Or find my feet and limp my way over to cleaner soil.

© Copyright 2018 Mystic Violet. All rights reserved.

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