the wall screamer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
na.

Submitted: September 08, 2012

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Submitted: September 08, 2012

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what brought him/her to this point

no one will remember, since there’s

nobody to witness & nobody to find

her/him if s/he takes it as far as s/he

can---still, the walls are closing in &

the rain outside doesn’t seem to be

letting up, slamming louder against

the windowpane (like it’s on some

kind of mission to outwit her/him,

silence her/him & in doing so, pound

pound pound that final nail into his/her

coffin created by the loneliness left

when all her/his friends washed away

like the sands on the beach’s edge).

 

the man in the band s/he’d been

listening to, prior to the turn of events

where the screaming inside the skull

started to get louder than all the rest of

his/her thoughts combined, he took the

road less traveled, he pumped his veins

full of mexican mud, the black eagle, the

brown rhine, the sugar of the same

color---and misery takes a step like an

ant on a razor’s edge, teetering, and

like a piss drunk trying to keep in line

when stumbling in front of the cop,

down goes her/his head & all

consciousness stops.

 

digging her/his nails into the walls &

raking them down like nails on the

chalkboard, but no one’s there to listen,

no one’s there to cringe & after all, if

ya can’t make somebody cringe, then

why ya rakin’ em’ down?

 

but the fingers roll themselves up into

fists & the fists start making punches &

the hair is flailing & the scream is getting

louder & the neighbors would be

retaliating, if there were any to retaliate &

“the expiration date is coming,” “the

expiration date is coming” (s/he keeps

telling her/himself that the expiration

date is coming), but who’s counting?

 

whilst some count their days with

coffee spoons & notches on the wall

near the door to show how tall their kids

are getting, some watch them burn away

with bleeding fingers, fists, torn hair &

endless, endless, itching.

 


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