organs all thumping my bones
a glistening forehead
sweat gathering in small gangs
raw fingers running
around my temples
cuticles gnawed away
dried blood in the crevices
manic voicemails at 3 in the morning
you have 7 unread messages
each one an intense essence
dread
fear
anger
resentment
shame
insecurities
blame
towering discs about to topple
all of them ready
to smash in your clavicle
to fold your arms around your neck
ripping them forward
tearing the sockets
tying them in a tight bow
around your neck
fingers flailed
garishly waving out
like nothing is wrong
Michael Ashley
Michael Ashley is a poet who lives in Spain. Focusing on nothing in particular like all good men.
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