words are feeble

words are feeble
they stumble and collapse
there seems no end to this
litany, no end to these
ink-stained tears that
eat into flesh
hollow out bones

and words are feeble
to contain hearts
rupturing with a thunderous
crack, each pulse a bolt
of lightning, splitting
the sky into two

and words
are feeble
to stop the bleeding eyes
everywhere, everywhere
there are bleeding eyes
failed by these feeble words
these words that are feeble



words spoken through
rows of serrated teeth:
if the threat of a lethal
bite will not stop you
then you must be a
tasteless dark without
a proper heart; in fact,
now that I am straining
my ears, opening myself
up to airy sounds traveling
through waves of the ocean
I am certain that I hear nothing-
nothing? oh, perhaps,
you aren’t even there and
after all these years, you,
you have been a ghost
after all


the bitter words I harbored
were burdens I consciously bore
and though it hurt
to speak
I spoke at will
baring my teeth
like a beast
so you would know
the pain
I felt

words don’t seem too fond of me

Words, words
they don’t seem too fond of me these days
I’ve had enough of their cold glares
their refusal, their indifference
they ignore me when I call out to them
they turn their collective backs and
say, in an unbearably disdainful voice,
“Go play with your ukulele;
it’s not like you need us.”

But I do. Don’t turn from me now.
I can’t seem to put things together,
for I seemed to have misplaced my vocabulary.
My muse has abandoned me. Sob. 
How am I supposed to express myself–sniffle.–
with you gone?

So come back to me. Wail. 
Please come back to me. Sniffle.
Oh, please come back to me. Rolling on the floor. 


Hey, that hurt. What?
What do you mean I’m being melodramatic?
I’m having WB, goddammit.
I’m entitled to a tantrum.

What’s WB? Don’t–don’t you know what WB is?
You don’t? Oh, it’s writer’s block.


You’re mean. Sob. Sniffle sniffle. Sniffle. 

There is a cactus in my throat


Words no longer belong to me.
They explode as they roll of my tongue.

You should stay away from me.
Stay away from the cactus in my throat;
A necklace of murderous thorns.

I can’t control it, you know.
My voice comes out in spikes and pricks.

I think I killed someone the other day;

A verbal spear right through the heart.
The blood makes me dizzy.

I’m sorry.

I should have it surgically removed.
Not that I haven’t tried before. Hey!

There is a cactus in my throat.

There is a cactus in my throat!