Binge

in so many crevices,
in drawers and cabinets and waste paper baskets,
buried,
beneath, beneath,
lies wrappered shrapnel,
hidden,
yet, gnawing, gnawing,
from the inside out,
a silvery, crinkled breadcrumb graveyard of words,
unspoken,
a secret swallow for every sinful syllable,
a cloaked choke on every vile vowel,
gnarled nouns stuck somewhere between my stomach and my mouth,
and there’s just no relief

sneaking behind closed doors and around corners,
furiously famished,
I binge and cringe on chocolate barbs,
on sacks of salty sinew,
slicing and chewing at the operatic clash,
at the rising, rising of the pitiful loathe,
a boiling bile in the pit of my being

a flood,
unuttered,
yet, refusing to be unheard

-image via Pinterest, by artist Lee Price

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24 thoughts on “Binge

  1. Oh, the emotions we consume that lay, restlessly in our stomachs, refusing to be digested. Love the metaphors and analogy. How cleverly you have penned this.

    Liked by 2 people

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