When we share things

and accept each other

the room gets warmer

the worst



is when someone shares

and the other


It’s horrible

to humor

to play this linguistic game

like a crooked guitar

or a broken banjo

their twisted wires

of scratchy


gut me


their tension

of coarse,



They strike music

fitting to their ears

like a snake

not knowing

its venom

cut-open faces

of sliver smiles


unable to grin

without a grimace

and perhaps this is why

I prefer solitude

even if

there is only one warm body

and the room

gets colder

and colder…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s