Sharp Syntax and Your Ability to Own Me
There is a lie you continuously tell me that crushes my soul every single time the words leak from between your lips. It strangles me and does things to my body that I didn’t know where possible. The whites of my eyes rupture under the pressure, every time. I feel them drip out my sockets and down my cheeks but by the time I find a tissue my vision is gone. Blinded by words. My senses fade to black and I am left with an ashy storm cloud fogging my thoughts. It is too dense and heavy to dance under and it stings the surface of my flesh. Each and every fucking time. I want to dip my fingers in the dirty snow and write your words on my bedroom wall like charcoal. I want to stain my sanctuary with them so that I will never forget what you’re saying. I’ll stare at them every minute of every day until I memorize every piece of syntax you spew. Until they are embedded so deeply in my mind that I can literally feel them printed on the inside of my skull like brail; seared into the backside of my eyelids so I can read them in my sleep. They will be the first thing I see when I wake up and my last thought I have before I fall asleep. That way I can repeat them over and over and over and finish your sentence before the saliva has a change to wet your lips. And I’ll tear out my eyes and wrap them in the shreds of my soul that you’ve torn out. Then you can devour those, too. You can digest them and keep them forever and control more of me than you thought you ever could, sharing laughs with your sister at my expense. Eventually, I’ll weaken. I’ll fall to my metaphorical knees and my symbolic guts will spew up and out my esophagus, covering my world in an acidic, soulless liquid; like a zit popped on a mirror. Or like eyes leaking from their sockets. Or words, watery and wet, piercing the wax of ears eager to believe.
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Currently listening to: Spose
Song:
God DamnAlbum: Preposterously Dank
