The Hunt (Inspired by Fiona Apple)

You wanna make me sick;
You wanna lick my wounds,
Don’t you, baby?
—“Limp” by Fiona Apple

Itching across the room
Your lips quiver
As the words start to bubble
The need, the urge
To let your tongue lunge forward
With teeth following closely
Clattering tightly behind, jagged
Tongue, fleshy and pink
Tiny bumps collecting all your words
These words
You wish to hiss, these insults
Building behind your skin
Leaving the pressure to cause your eyes swirl
Flickering all the memories, the pain
Dislike is an understatement
Wallowing in your throat
Forgiveness needs to show up soon
But you never sent the invitations
So this party has become a hunt
With your rage leading the call
Itching across the room
You lips quiver into a cruel smile
Licking your lips over and over again
The sentences hunching forward
Reaching, stretching across the room
Your gaze meets their guilt
Room slows to the ticking of your heartbeat
And you make the first step
For forgiveness hasn’t showed and rage has the room

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