I am a gentle creature. In truth I squirm at blood, real bones, I will help a dragonfly on the sidewalk out of the path of danger.
But we might be in a violent mood today,
Violent like comic sans’ chaos. Violent like antonyms, perfect rhymes.
Come die at the curse of a mage,
Go cry to the blessing of your rage,
Return yells from the thief of my age.
Send whispers through this giver of immortal youth,
Track silence around that taker of death,
Sneak symphonies under those finders of life.
Shout dissension above these lost barrens,
And wring from them the edges of my emotions
That hold no names
And whatever passes for the pressure
Launching each beating thump upward
to make my limbs move
Through this mad game of charades.
How much force does the clock require to stab forward a single tock, tick, tock?
How much breath should we dedicate to each missing beat in a kids’ game of telephone, in, out, in?
How much is the force of my own words
Holding me together
While I leak
Feelings I cannot name?
I think I’m in a violent mood today
Mourning a language lost in comic sans,
Vanished in my motions.
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