Poetry: Spit Forth Guts

Oh the venom on these lips
cold fury should you
taste it there.  Drink
deep my gathering gloom
quench your thirst for
my lies and my truths
and my muted thoughts.

Stand still frozen dead
in pools of wonder and
dread for this poison
that seeps into your
pores will not soon
leave the haunted spaces
your frightened places
there will be myriad traces
where it killed the
wonder it found in your
dull and dreary mind.

Choke on toxic thoughts
vomit my musings and
spit forth guts colored
black with doubt and
fear and torment stain
the ground with your
loosened purpose your
pathetic beliefs that
words are always intentions
of the noble and righteous.

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