Language of pain

I clenched my fist while holding
my tongue with dirty fingers
I pressed too hard and turned it
into soft red dust

I could not tell you about
my pain
so I took my fist and 

touched your face
until there was only 

soft red dust and memory

of your image.

Reviews

[Steven]

There is something so brutal in Eastern European writing. And I'm drawn to it.

[Ina Waltz]

I guess we love brutality. :D
Glad to hear that, Steven.

[DrD]

Of all your work, I liked this far above the others. Here we have innuendoes and imagry that is brief, but relates a long message. A fine work that I enjoyed.

[Ina Waltz]

Thank you for your review! It inspires me to write more pieces like this one.

[Charlotte Acrobat]

If I shiver, it's good. I shivered.