Unknowing confidants,
They asked me how I was,
Not knowing the affront they presented,
I doubled over,
Finally spewing the blood of Olympians,
A flood of viscous ichor,
Black running down my chin,

This raven tide contained all manner of darkness,
Demons and skulls and unspoken nightmares,
Repressed personae clawing from the ink,
Certainly nothing holy,
These bleak waters held memories,
Hopeless images in every swirling bubble,
Cries for help,
The stygian contents of a soul,

Peering up from my knees,
We locked eyes,
I spoke no words,
But they knew what I had said,
What the ichor had revealed.

  1. jai says:

    Most don’t really want to know how we really feel.

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