Their words dripped from the sky,
at first a pale mist of deceit,
something bearable, however annoying.
Soon the drops turned into rain
slowly soaking into my clothes
and through my thick skin.
Then the words turned into hail,
hurling down, beating my body
knives of ice and malice cutting my cheeks.
I was buried beneath their civilized vernacularisms.
· Sun Mar 16, 2008 @ 04:05am · 0 Comments