Unspoken Tangents
By: Tyler Ross
Claustrophobic, I’m sick
waiting for your walls to sit
Still, a state of mind
I can’t come to grip
Your intentions
Skewed
I feel as if my heart could rip
out of my chest
I guessed wrong again
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t remember a time
when you told me things would be
just fine
I’ve binged
Cynical and walking down these pathogens
closely shoveled behind my selfish grins
A cancer bound like a bomb
waiting to explode
and expose
a self-made injection
from a historical infection
pinned to your perfection
Internal brain splatter
spills in a hundred directions
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