Saying Stupid Shit
I contemplate
the words caressing my lips;
they want to escape,
march from my mouth
and charge onto the battlefield,
weapons unto themselves,
having no need for guns.
Yet I know these terms
will in fact wound,
not the soft pillows
I pad my speech with,
a passive compassion
hidden within every whisper.
Why should I utter
such stupidity?
Yet it is here,
staring me in the face
as it strides away
to collide with
the one staring back at me,
mocking me
with every step.
I reach out,
grabbing at its hand,
trying to wrench it back...
but it's no good.
It was gone long ago,
before it even formed
along the edges of my mind.
And now my eyes swing low,
staring at my hands
as I contemplate
the monster I've created.
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