Spikes (Poetry, Rough Draft)

My soul, I think, has spikes, for I can sometimes feel them prickling against the underside of my skin, dimpling the flesh outward as they try to break free, these spikes of anger and malice and hate and sorrow and vengeance and wrath, and they push so hard at times that I can feel my skin dimpling outward, until someday, someday, they will rip thru my skin and jut out into the sunlight of the world.

It will be bloody.

My skin prickles from the inside, and I wonder how long I can wait.

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~ by brokenrazor on July 11, 2008.

One Response to “Spikes (Poetry, Rough Draft)”

  1. Hey, your writing is really vivid and conjures up many images. It feels really dark to me but true and that is what matters.

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