Emotions are fickle,
And I know this well.
They're heavy and worn,
Basking in weariness and
Riddled stiffly, anchoring.
The snap of a forked
Tongue, all snake and
Vile-ridden, seeping
With flaking poison.
Barren and cold is
The untamed heart,
Soul brittle and taut
Like a raging fire that
Drowns as quick as it
Ends, cutting sharply.
How words of passion
Are quick to smother
The ashes and rile the
Boundless wind as it
Tears at your skin with
A rattling, vicious ferocity.
Tainted and bemusing
Language paired with
Iron fists, laying still
In the rusted cage you
Lay chained in, taking it in.
Drinking the hostile sap
As if the liquid were nectar,
Bittersweet and foreboding
Whilst you grow weaker.
The air in which your lungs
Breathe is shallow and vacant,
Harrowing and full of denial.
. . .
Emotions are fickle,
And I hide them well.