~ Anger in the Bottle  ~

Somehow, I fall down the neck
of the bottle everytime I imagine
their faces, their choices, all
made for me.  My voice, raspy and
muted by the glass.  Liquor, like hatred
that bubbles up inside my gut fills me
with emptiness, graciously burning away
resistance and all sensations.  My brain, a fetid
sponge, victim of a death wish made on
the golden rainbow reflected in the glass.

But it isn't liquor that
I am drowning in tonight.  It is fear
of its recollection.  The fumes
waft up from memory, calling
to me like a  phantom from my
empty hand.
Although I tremble at the thought
of feeling ~

I can't manuever that channel.
I won't wish on that rainbow.
Not any more!

Rather, let me drown in ink,
or learn to swim, learn to cry,
learn to write out loud, no! yes!
and everything in between.
I am screaming.





Sheaves of Grass **A Collection of Poems
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by K. Violet
2002
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