Sex and Violence

The rolling, boiling swamplands past the edge of the conscious; there lies the dark,
in plunges and sinkholes and half conceived urges.
It throws roots into the sweating earth and breeds vines in
writhing tongues.
It condenses and pools at the base of the skull.
Probing thought cannot reach it; but its guttering shadows
dog the heels of passing fancy
and anticipation.
Welcome and unwanted,
each breath it clouds is
heavy,
an omen.

• favorite this
• report a concern

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.

Tags:

dark, violence, sex and subconscious