the carcass

  of  a line 

imbedded in your mind

                       stapled to your chest

     the acrimony of 

           your blood dripping: I know,

                 it's not pleasant 

try to think about something else,

    something good 

            and nice 

                         the way, oh hell,

everything seems 

    tainted now 

                         staring at screens 

                give it up 

             run 

head for the hills 

                                 dig a grave 

                   bury your anger 

and walk away, no 

run