May 7, 2019
Into the pit of it. You know where that is. Down deep, where it's dark. You keep it locked away, so no one can see. Sometimes you even forget where it is, but it doesn't forget you. In the quiet moments when you hold back your anger and smile, from the pit it rises. It spreads across your mind. A hoard of mad locusts. The sky inside is dark with them. Sun is blotted out no matter where you go. The loud buzzing never ceases. When you open your smile it falls out. Words are bullets looking for a gun.