You can’t swallow the lump in your throat so stop trying.
Start breathing, you’ll see, eventually it’ll soften.
It’s dark at night, the birds are quiet, except for one that keeps on crying.
You start with a hiccup, a sip of tea to calm the crispy sighing.
You begin to unravel, tears drip from the corners of your eyes at night. You hurt often.
You can’t swallow the lump in your throat, so stop trying.
It’s the story of the wolf and the hood you’re not buying,
Her ignorance, his carnivorousness. You place both of them in a small coffin.
It’s dark at night, the birds are quiet, except for one that keeps on crying.
Be quiet, you bird! But it’s you who’s shouting, and all of them you’re eyeing
Like planets you wish you could go to, because you’re lonely, or alone? boxed in.
You can’t swallow the lump in your throat, so stop trying.
It wasn’t me, but the wolf that was lying,
Telling you and the birds of young berries gone rotten.
It’s dark at night, the birds are quiet, except for one that keeps on crying.
It is no other way, and it never was, says the night air, prying.
Pacing in your room, waiting to pounce, wondering about the blood in the walk-in…
You can’t swallow the lump in your throat so stop trying.
It’s dark at night, the birds are quiet, except for one that keeps on crying.
12/6/16
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