That Thing Called... Shh!

It’s like an interrogation room beating
With a phone book over my stomach
To minimise the bruising
Though I can still feel every blow
Jarring through my body and expelling
The air from my lungs

And I’m on the floor retching
Reaching out to the silence
That’s not listening anyway
When it’s screaming so loud
I’m blinded by the light
Melting into the concrete floor
As though it will shield me from hell

While we’ve all got it coming
And it’s heading, racing towards me
A freight train that won’t slow down
For that body tied to the tracks
And everyone’s wanting
Everyone’s waiting to get run over
With insanity and chemical reactions
Bathing in a massacre of bloodied fantasies

I’m on fire from the inside
It’s giving me chills, the dry ice burning
Unwilling to melt with the sun shiny rays
Bruised and beaten by invisible hands
And I don’t want to know, I don’t want to hear it
While it’s whispering within, screaming treason
And I’m looking for a baton to beat it back with

That thing called...
Don't dare say it

© Indie Adams 2012