Personal Demons


I cough on the passion
that hastily builds in my larynx
enflaming, choking my eager voice
with each and every breath
as the bile in my soul becomes an
ailment taking on physical properties but I,
I will never become someone’s property
for I am the picture that my soul paints
and it shall not be sold.
The highest bidders are turned away
and attempts at thievery are
dispelled and given away by my cough,
sounding an alarm that causes heads to turn,
look towards then away
others finding it necessary to
uncover the cause of the sound but,
I wear a mask of stone.
Weathered by emotions and
eroded by time yet,
people attribute that to character
using specific vocabulary to veil
the fault lines clearly gilded on my face
burdening my lips with the gravity of weight
that will never show on a scale, but,
for whom should I be weighed?
My weight is my business but sometimes,
I wish my business sold stock
so that pieces of me could be
bought off with the expectations of
reimbursement in greater shares and so
I could alter, fix myself from the inside out,
slowly breaking down that mask
with soft, gentle tears that would
fall,
silently in private
giving use to the dark rooms that
are my thoughts, stuck forever brooding since
you left, and so I cough,
eventually forming syllables out of
combinations of inexplicable phonemes and
unintelligible sounds as I exorcise my demons
fighting them in solitude all the while
surrounded, by the deaf unknowing public.

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