Monday, November 7, 2011

Pity Party! (and the bouncy-house of stress)

This pressure crushes,
Emitting tears.
A dream dissolved
Like grey gelatin
In boiling water.

Nails driven into a coffin
Of baked goods,
Stern looks
And an endless battle
Of prattle.

Nails bitten to the flesh,
and a lump of regret
Lodged in the throat.
The lump grows,
Gaining strength from Bile.


Comfort food
Tastes salty.
Now the pressure
Comes from within.

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