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Image for the poem Wrath Of The Aftermath

Wrath Of The Aftermath

 

We should be fucking.  
We need to stop looking  
for each other's scabs  
that aren't there.  

I know what you're doing;  
Listening for caution words  
that will be cogs in the wheel  
of sentences.  
But not everything is smooth  
all the time,  
so just step over.  
And while your leg is raised;  
Parts of me are deaf  
but it's damn sure staring.  
 
We should be shutting up by now.  
It's all said.  
There's no vicious dogs  
behind our fences.  
All that commotion  
is only echoes  
of our pasts,  
trying to stay relevant.  
Trying to keep us  
shut in and tied down  
to a torture chair,  
that we keep dragging behind ourselves.  
 
We can play boat and ocean.  
Take turns, reeling in  
what isn't really that vast.  
Stop the worry  
of what seems so overwhelming.  
How do we know, until we just  
dive in.  
(Sharks?  
We will wear their teeth  
on a necklace.  
How do we know,  
until we fight back).  
Fear is for dry people.  
Their brittle-ness  
will kill them just as fast.  
 
There's fucking to be had.  
I'm tired of wearing  
all this sophistication.  
There's a caveman  
in front of you,  
wielding his club.  
He's over the confusion  
of our separate languages.  
Men and women have  
such different tongues.  
 
Let's shut up.  
How do you think we got this far;  
-Our non-verbal ancestors  
fucked.  
 
 
~~~  
Styxian
Written by Styxian
Published | Edited 3rd Oct 2022
Author's Note
Hurricane poem #2.
I love storms! If I die, it will hopefully be by lightning.
The picture was taken outside my front door. That's actually the moon. No filters.
How incredibly...
Hurricane poem #2.
I love storms! If I die, it will hopefully be by lightning.
The picture was taken outside my front door. That's actually the moon. No filters.
How incredibly fortunate we all really are.
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