The things left unsaid

Ekklay, Oct 03 2015

The things left unsaid
take on strange powers,
especially at night.

they become bats
who ingest dusk’s dying colours,
fashion nightmares
from them, and whisper them
into your dreams.

they turn into worms
who form long chain-gangs—
a worm at one end dipping
a bucket on a rope
deep into your wells of fears—
ferrying fear-drops into
your muscles,
to petrify you into a stupor.

they turn into beasts
with compound eyes
who slide up your optic nerve
and into your vitreous humours,
magnifying your every fault
in an endless hall of mirrors.

when daylight breaks,
they huddle together
into a question
that sits on the tip of
your tongue.
but of course they’ll refuse
to get fully formed—
these things left unsaid.

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