Mute

From criticism straight to witticism, welcome to your verbal exorcism

A clear division of utter derision to lop you cleaner than a robotic circumcision

The message… Precision. Words like a blast vent over nuclear fission.

War of the words, you’re not even fighting I am constantly winning

Spiral delivery set heads spinning, minds go wandering like the crowd come seventh inning

All while I stand there, just venomously grinning, just a mocking bird making a mockery out of singing.

No wonder you left, away from me, bereft

No wonder you ran, post me… sans…

Words only bring warmth now if I burn the pages. Words only hang in empty air, they no longer have weight.

Every concept… Every word… Now seems so emptily absurd. All just obtuse, meanings without use.