In Disbelief 

In Disbelief
Acerbic tongues sting this flesh 

like a million tiny bee stings;

the barbs embedded in my skin.

I shake and quake with hidden fury,

so very English, so polite,

and rankle, and rile, and bite

at the unforgiving pain of it all.

Disbelief, I tell myself.

It’s utter disbelief.

But the cold hard truth,

these clients of the devil

market and peddle through unsanitary smiles,

who push and prod the badness under my entrails;

they know, they know it’s not.

They seek to conceal 

and I want to believe the lesser of two evils:

it all stinks:

accept it.

I’m beyond acceptance

beyond their views of this world

and all we should stand for.

Instead, I mire in disbelief.

I would have it no other way,

for my universal fury waits to spill over

to those other ninety-nine percent

who agree.

At least, I hope so.

God, I hope so!
 

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7 thoughts on “In Disbelief 

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