The Ides Of May
By Dena Arnote
Drip drip drip.
Words bleed from your mouth.
Seeping deeply into pale, soft flesh;
Bitterness exposing rot.
Maggots eat well when you speak.
Their warm bellies bloated,
Bursting with putrid lies.
Forked tongues rip open veins
For the indolent to feed upon.
While you live well in your own shit
The world devours your leftover
Messages meant to build you up.
One day you, too, will lay in the
Wet, loamy Earth
While the festering larvae
Consume the vile sludge from your cracked lips.
And your venom will not depreciate anyone anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment