Words


Carried out firmly
On the tip of my muscular tongue
Delicately poured onto silken paper
Vowels moaning as they fall, head down
Consonants landing with a thud
Avidly they rearrange themselves
As if to please me
So is the beginning of loss
And guilt
For if they aren’t the right words
I cannot take them back
The pen rises
The wrong words shiver in dismay
I draw a jagged line over them
And instantly learn to regret it:
Dread the sight of the blotch
That makes up their crossed, annihilated bodies
Upon my soft, white page
The ghosts I set free
Come back to haunt me

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