Left-over anger tasted like a riot

February 24, 2015

Outside the bathroom door:

“I have a series of questions for you”

Take one.

A few fake cuddles and baby smooches.


“I don’t want to offend you”

Take two:

Prepares one for a déjà vu

Of pains lived; never left

“Don’t judge me if I ask you this”

Take three.

Questions unasked

Unending ellipsis to the unspoken;

the unsaid that eats your heart


scalds your insides up your brain

The silence.

Things never said.

The hurt of the unsaid won’t give

“Why did you ask?”

A housefly’s sting on an old wound

A mosquito bites

One will remember Vitamin B jabs

The nurse said it would hurt;

Just a little.

Just. A. Little.

A pretentious drunkenness

Lies next to one

Like wet euphorbia that won’t burn,

tearing your eyes,

with a sting of revenge.

Then it’s day two.

Memories of a past:

Reliving one’s yesterdays,

in the silence of souls

(Except for the fan drying up a boxer;

for tomorrow)

Another day.

 One Comment

  1. Passiona Njeri

    Reblogged this on Passiona .

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