Violence

A poem by Blake Williams, senior English Major

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My oldest work will be my cruelest

these poems will be the razors that I use to

slash

cut

carve

smiles into the body of my literature

to reveal the teeth behind the skin that

gnash

chew

rend

the flesh of my dignity apart

leaving only scraps for maggots to

eat

rot

fester

these poems will be ugly, brutal

little things that my critics will look at with

disdain

shame

disgust

they will vomit at the rotting corpse of

rhymes and the meter of broken bodies will

lurk

stalk

haunt

their journals and blogs while my corpse

shudders with laughter and tears mocking

myself?

them?

who?