I can feel them in
the tips of my fingers
These words.
Wanting to scratch your eyes out.
Invade your throat
like thick, oozy mucus
making it hard to breath.
Buckle your knees,
bring you to the ground
in the middle of some street.
Burn your feet
like walking
on red hot coals.
They creep
like arthritis
from wrist to fingertip,
aching to get out.
These words
To hurt you.
For making my heart
feel like it was ripped
from its roots
with a garden claw.
Or carved away
with a dull spoon.
For scattering my mind
like toy jacks
that you kick away
with your boot
into the gutter.
For slivering my soul
that I had placed
in your hands
with promise
and love, until
You dropped it
like a careless
kid in a china shop.
My fingers
twitch with excitement
anxiously tapping
to let them out.
These words.
To hurt you.
Invade your consciousness
like maggots feasting
on a corpse, forever.
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