Tip Down Dark

Set to stab in the kitchen

With its arctic barbs

He tacked the monster on.

It paces angry to its corner

With a sneer

that’d love to prod a gash,

desperately seething

as my patience starts to crash

 

I remain a silent chef

Against an eager opportunist

Here the walls hang heavy,

Soaking up the swearing,

Beating down reason

In a cloud of dirt and ego,

And he’s learned enough to know

The look of my blood.

 

It’s boiling,

And I tip down dark

Into some strange haven

Built on buried woe.

I release a beast of my own.

 

Motherfucker, try me!

I will not hesitate

to spill your soul onto this floor

And leave you nursing wounds that can’t be sewn.

I will parade your pain around this kitchen

Till you are fully wrung.

And if you’re not hollow,

If I can’t hear your ears whistle,

This ain’t over.

And you’ll wish

you could shake out the things I’ve said.

But they’ll stick like poison darts

Pumping cerebral headaches

through every ounce of security

you’ve built over time.

You ain’t looking at a saint

And this beast is here to break you.