Monday, April 15, 2013

Bearded Ballads 15/30: Process

Handcuffed to the chair
and duct taped for good measure,
a captive audience
of sensory overload.
The plastic bag
me, with your words,
and the physical representation
of my suffering.

The torturous drone
of your monologue,
a villainous diatribe
akin to sticking needles in my ear
nails on a chalkboard
detailing your nefarious plots.

Linda Blair’s got nothing
on these demons.  Head
spinning, the exorcism
tearing from me
this useless information
a re-write, lopping off the fat
and trimming
a ransom letter of
words and symbols spelling
out gibberish
which would be speaking in tongues
if it weren’t already silenced.

No comments:

Post a Comment