| |
“You have never really loved,
if you haven’t wanted to murder.”
You have left me.
Your memory batters me
like a policeman’s nightstick.
A blood-soaked anger
torrents from my mouth.
My legs are cigarettes
stubbing themselves gray
on the sidewalk.
I’m a fiend
trying to burn you
out of my gut.
I punish my body
until it collapses.
But you still squat on my chest
heavy and oppressive.
I want to smash skulls,
break bones.
Instead, I throw my fury
into words.
Disaster has a fuse
and me
I just lit a match.
|
| |
Christian W. Thiede's work can be found in the Harrisburg Review, Fledgling Rag,
The Central Pen, Megaera Anthology, Out of the Blue Writers Unite, and numerous online
publications. He has published two chapbooks of poetry: Gazing Behind My Eyes and
Random Poems Now With Homes.
|
