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| ~ Anger in the Bottle ~ |
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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. |
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| Sheaves of Grass **A Collection of Poems |
| by K. Violet |
| 2002 |
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| Copyright (1998, 1999, 2000, 2002) poetrykk/Sheaves of Grass Any questions regarding this site or its activity is welcome, email me at poetrykk@yahoo.com |
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