deepundergroundpoetry.com

That Thing Called... Shh!

Itís 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 Iím on the floor retching
Reaching out to the silence
Thatís not listening anyway
When itís screaming so loud
Iím blinded by the light
Melting into the concrete floor
As though it will shield me from hell

While weíve all got it coming
And itís heading, racing towards me
A freight train that wonít slow down
For that body tied to the tracks
And everyoneís wanting
Everyoneís waiting to get run over
With insanity and chemical reactions
Bathing in a massacre of bloodied fantasies

Iím on fire from the inside
Itís giving me chills, the dry ice burning
Unwilling to melt with the sun shiny rays
Bruised and beaten by invisible hands
And I donít want to know, I donít want to hear it
While itís whispering within, screaming treason
And Iím looking for a baton to beat it back with

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

© Indie Adams 2012
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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