Wed, 09/30/2015 - 13:05 -- M Cubed
It's suspended along my vocal cords
A sticky, smothering mess
Stretched across the chasm of my throat
It adheres to every surface

Hacking and coughing simply will not do
This unwieldy web cannot be easily expelled - 
A blockade that greedily grabs at heavy air saturated with particles of sound and light
Just to strike most unexpectedly and tangle these words in viscous globs
So that my voice comes out distorted, disfigured,
If it even escapes at all

If this is what it's like to keep a secret,
I think I'd prefer to let them fly far and free
Except these spiders prove tediously hard to extinguish - 
There are some things no one is willing to release


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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