A column of abused air
escapes from these lips,
threatening to shatter
the barrier of sound,
and the perfect, airtight
supposition of what is right.
Things that just are
drip off the once,
well-laid table of reality,
for I am screaming.
I leave nothing
but a black hole
where silence used to be;
A black hole with a golden halo
where silence refuses to be replaced,
so louder, I scream,
more insistent than before.
I can remain unseen,
But I will be heard,
and, from these cracked and torn lips,
will rage with the bulls
that were never taken by the horns,
and the "I's" that refused to be dotted,
and the "T's" that scorned crossing.
And even when,
over the entire earth,
lays a thick film of dirty truth,
mined from my lungs,
I will continue to scream,
and bury the world
with the weight of it.