Spoiler
OK, so I've been having difficulty polishing up this poem. It's rough around the edges, especially the two last stanzas. Any suggestions are highly welcome. THIS WILL BE A SPOKEN WORD POEM.
It’s a sizzling, desolate war-zone, the deadliest of trenches,
It’s the land without the white walls to womb your fears,
the shields to shade your tears,
or the fences to guard your senses.
You crouch beneath the dirt, doomed and defenseless,
You hear the crisp crackle of gunfire, ruthless and endless.
Your friends, in the grime, are pregnant with death,
You’re the only one who refused to end his breath,
though your lungs are drenched with the stench
and poison of treason,
treason against your sense, essence and reason.
Your forehead sprays sweat like it's monsoon season.
Your limbs shake and shatter like a threatened rattle-snake,
While your teeth split and splatter your tongue,
A pain that crumbles your spine
Like a Richter nine quake.
Your heart is a motor overheating in its whirl,
Your stomach is a rollercoaster on a thousand twirls.
Pupils stretch as wide as the hurricane’s eye,
your veins pump the blood of Anarchy’s smile,
and you grin back like a lunatic freak,
only your grin is a twisted twitch in your cheeks.
Your freckles dislocate from your skin in a waterfall frenzy,
Your bladder is a crevasse, crushed, cramped and empty.
You stretch out your head like a lonesome giraffe
to catch a glance of this apocalyptical aftermath,
you freeze in horror,
your brain leaks and pours out your skull's splintered crust,
The tanks shriek death with canons like tusks,
and you cower back down, with your prayer as a crutch.
That's when your breakfast porridge slithers back up your throat,
it’s a backward river of milk and oats,
that rushes into your mouth in a thick yellow gush,
and you cockle, rumple, clinch, crumple and cough.
You screech against rock with your stalactite nails like a caged wolf
As your head floods with blood
and your iris erupts
into a nebula of bloodstained hail.
You're a shivering puddle of courage turned stale,
Death may have missed you, but Phobia prevails.
