on ruminating (20160609)

paranoia sits in my chest
a fist clenched around my heart

so quick it must be a snake
envenomed and eager to strike
every thought a judgment
every word a pointed finger

it’s so boring
to try to not be that way
so exhausting that i
let my gorge rise
open my mouth
and let the snake out

shadow puppet of a serpent
a hand shaped like the devil’s head
fingers curled into a fist
but still spitting poison
from my bloody, beating heart

7 thoughts on “on ruminating (20160609)

  1. While I don’t quite have pronoia (a word I only learned today), I have been criticised for never being paranoid – even when I should be. I think that might also mean I’m not a poet.

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