Bugs In The Thunderstorm, Especially Now

B.I.T.T.E.N.

ouch

I’ve been bitten by the bitter bug
whose bite says ‘you’re a disgrace to the swarm.’
I’ve never felt so alone, outside in the storm.
Longing for nothing, but at the same time, a hug.

It started with one bug, I thought then that I knew,
though after a while more bugs showed up too.

The thunder sneers down from up high, from above,
and lightning looms near, illuminating the bugs — swarming me.
Stinging me and singing me their vapid songs.

Well, I’ve felt their acidulous stings before,
and heard them singing spiteful songs.
They think it’s their right to rule ‘punishment’s due,’
claims which I now know to be false and untrue.

Listen, these bugs they will never explain,
— nor justify — what comes after their bites and the pain,
the lasting effects of what to them is a game.

Although, this has happened to me before,
and I know that you lie, and I know how you trick,
I’ve learned one thing now and I think it will stick.

The bugs will keep on incessantly flapping their wings,
sing ‘till their throats are raw, until they ‘make us see.’

The wasps’ venomous injections will always sting,
and bees will choose to die in pursuit of wrecking me,
with all their singing and their stings.

~

-h

snap and it’s over

I have so many pieces in my pockets, sometimes I wonder
what would happen if they – crept out – fell out – leapt out –
for the world to see.
To know what they mean to me.
To believe or not believe, me.

See, you don’t see how:
I’ve collected and I’ve kept them,
hid them and erased them,
seen them pristinely polished.

See, you don’t see how they fit together,
how they all originate from this
one
whole
sheet
of
broken
glass,

shattered into pieces from this blast,
exclusively eclectic secret relics,
hidden
from everyone
the universe
and you.

-holz

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