Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Making Monsters

When I allow the memories
To leak from my ears into
My eyes, with a colorful
Flood of numbers and reason,
I wince.
Hurt shears away the rotting
Shell I've been comfortably
Hiding within, and instead of a
Beautiful butterfly emerging, a
Flurry of flies is expelled,
Violently.
I think of monsters and the
Tales they could tell if their
Mouths hadn't been sewn shut,
How they make me scream tears
Of disgust at the actions taken
Upon them for appearing dismantled.
I wouldn't change a thing for them,
And yet, I would change
Everything.
Had I the power to numb them
So blatantly, I wonder what fate
Would befall me, an angry mob
Of emotion robbing me of what
Little sanity I had so that I
Feel when I'd rather just disappear.

5-14-10


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Making Monsters

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