Murder Charades

red-orange droplets like blood diffuse in a white liquid
diffusing red liquid
Photo by shutter_speed on

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

Just pains,

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,

Or something,

A definition

Vanished in my motions.


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