She bites him with scorn and hypocrisy
and love. Stinging. Burn. Burn, baby burn.
Her coiling words slither down his throat,
snaking, silently, soaking through every pore
of his body.
Another boy, successful and modest, hits him.
Beats him. Brings him to his knees in surrender
the white flag being signaled by his bare limbs –
tapping the meaninglessness keys on his phone.
She provokes a smile, a wink, a wicked snarl of
comfort through language which destroys him.
Language which hurts.
Language which softens the blow of each blink
of the replies he watches, blowing up his phone.
“Welcome to the most dangerous
war zone of your life.”
Now, they don’t teach how to survive at school anymore.
You watch this unfold. Eating a snack, maybe some ice cream,
who cares? The little blue bird does, and its spreading like wildfire.
Shooting your friends – with photographs,
shots of your screen, which barely even capture
the emptiness you feel. The cold, creamy, fatal goodness
which flows through your blood.
You. Only live once. But what about when the words
become so much that even your own existence hurts.
The buzz of silence cuts your heart deeper than the blades
that you use. At least that’s what they say.
What’s on your mind?
For sure, it’s not me.