your words might snap, crackle and pop, but they still get soggy in the cereal bowl

 
You see the world
in shades of “it wasn’t me”
so I’ll take the blame again
for your lack of sanity
‘cause your reality
isn’t something I know
how to control

When the blood on the walls
doesn’t give me pause to dream
in macabre-nightmared hues
cowardice becomes your weapon
and you wear two faces
with the kind of pride
of someone who doesn’t know
how to look in the mirror
or recognise what they’d see

The scales bend and break
and you’re looking
to smack me in the head
with the aftermath
and light me on fire
with an empty lighter
never realising I’m the one
that holds the gun
master of my own fate

You’ve never understood
that words are only a weapon
when they know how to
find their way under a ribcage
and into a heart
with all the power of something
harder and sharper

And I can’t respect or fear
a coward of hands and words
when the only insults you’ve got
are smoke in your lungs
and nights spent thinking
of all the ways you’re willing
to snap the law to get to me
like this was the kind of problem
that needed violence to fix it

So I’ve been waiting
for your words to take corporeal form
and leave their mark on my skin

And I’ll keep waiting
‘cause truth be told
you’ve got nothing but gossip
to hold between your lips
and no one to tell
who could use it against me

© Indie Adams 2016