Friday, 18 March 2011

The Tongue

It falls out my mouth, there is no control when it happens. The sound lashing my tongue dishes out to my poor, unsuspecting love. The war it wages against humanity, like it has a life of its own. My tongue hates humanity, society and all things cute. When it happens, I become the vessel of my empathetic, raging tongue. It is out of control, it tells him them that they aren't right and nothing they do is good enough.

I fear if my tongue ever manages to break free of my mouth then torment would break loose and I would lose everything dear to me. I have tried biting it and swallowing it and all I can to stop the urge my tongue has to be vengeful. It knows my deepest, most hurtful, hated thoughts and decides that if I cannot bring myself to realise or say them; then it will. And because this bottled up potion of hatred and despondency had festered in my mind, the concoction became pure venom, concentrated, undiluted venom that juices up my lurid tongue in to a grotesque frenzy.

My mind has no time to react to my tongue's poison, the damage control my poor, tired mind has to exact in the aftermath of my destructive muscle of speech is too much to bear. My mind is telling me that I need to take control, I need to soften my words; my tongue and mind in battle for the win. As my mind has no vessel of speech other than my outlandish tongue and the venomous prong seemingly has its own persona then the battle has an inevitable conclusion.
The poison spews.
The venom spits.
I have failed.

It wriggles in my mouth like a worm in the moist, post-rain earth and pokes its way tentatively to the surface to scout out its next victim.
The line of fire.
Who can I destroy next?
Who can I make feel as lowly and putrid as me?
Who can I murder emotionally, even for the shortest while?
It's all in the eyes, you can see the knives slitting them open with every word it barks and my mind is witness. It wants it to stop, to love and to nurture but my tongue thrives, my tongue feels this pain and anguish and it fuels it. It fuels my selfish, irresponsible tongue.

I feel the smoke from my cigarette twirl over my disingenuous tongue and soothe it. It rolls over in waves of softening tranquillity to subdue the tongue, calm like the tongue should be.
My mind gains control, slowly. Quiet as a snake stalking its pray; pouncing only when it stills. Ready to apologise, ready to control the uncaged beast and set everything right until I take my eye off the ball and the tongue reigns free again.

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