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Written randomly during science. I don't even know what it means.

discard

So much more than this has to be said. But for starters you should know that your apology is worth less than the socks on my feet. Happy? You are no better than the material between my flesh and my twenty-five dollar slippers. Congratulations. Not only are you a measely quarter of a centimeter thick, but you can be purchased at even the lowest of places. You are fake, you are pointless, you are uncalled for. You are the extra seasoning packet that no one uses because the recipe is better off without your quarter teaspoon of chili powder. You are what is thrown away without being opened. But I, stupid immature I, opened you and poured your contents all over what used to be perfect. The first bite burns, but soon tolerance is built. I learned to tolerate, stop paying close attention to the loud screams from my throat, taste buds, stomach, friends, parents, siblings. They became the salt and pepper as you gained spice, bang, muscle. Your ingredients paralyzed my thoughts, ideas, wants, needs. Like an allergic reaction you blocked my passage to air, tightening my throat like a pissed off boa constrictor, allowing nothing near me, inside me, except you. Your bite was as fierce as a habanero, I wanted more zing but my body, self, being said NO. Purging you cleared my stomach, throat, mind, thoughts. Next time I will obey they second grade rule, read the directions, instructions: DISCARD.

Poetry by kaytee
Read 585 times
Written on 2008-05-21 at 02:20