Grudge

Silent is the memory
it’s burden on my tongue like
hot ash raining over
pompei.
Anger
vivid in it’s color of red
as it seethes beneath the surface
skin crawling crawling
with the maggots of time
and suspense.
Like little weeds in a big
big breeze
they bend they bend
but break, nay
just free.
The trees beside them
our willpower being the strength
bends and breaks
much easier than envy
and anger springing
springing forth in frank.
And the ash that burns
red upon white
crimson in the very darkest of nights
glows and grows
upon the flesh of mankind
as it tastes bitter
foul
like burnt toast to the tongue.
Makes you gag
makes you sick
as you gasp and you cough
to let go of it
but it, it is so thick.
So thick so thick
it sticks and sticks.
That grudge is an ugly
duck rearing it’s head
but it won’t hold beauty
unless you let it be bled.

Grudge

Abigail F.

Holland, United States

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

© Abigail R. F.

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