Twelve Years Old

 
Sunday nights
Breed a fire of anticipation
And Monday’s flowering
My stomach boils uncertain

The mind tussles
At the agonizing promise
Of a schoolyard panic
Its eternal simmering contempt

My tongue retreats
In the falling buckets of sweat
As I trudge the mist-shroud stairs
Propelled toward a sure unraveling

The prodding begins
As scores fall in
Prying away
At their offbeat Other

Taunting refrains
Taunting refrains
My flesh rolls away
Unveiling my distress

Like ravenous jackals
They tear through my innards
In a ritual defiling
Before the watchful daybreak

I remain in scraps
In a mangled heap of gore
My day’s spent crawling
Out of sight and out of mind  


If you truly enjoyed this piece be sure to follow me on  wordpress, tumblr, and deviantart. You can also find more of my work in my latest book of poems and short stories: Fever Dreams of a Young Romantic. All links are available below.

{My blogs}
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{Fever Dreams of a Young Romantic}
 http://www.lulu.com/us/en/shop/william-l-wright-jr/fever-dreams-of-a-young-romantic/ebook/product-21533139.html