My Intimate Poetry: Conscience.

Stop exposing me to your rancour― Tammy-Louise Wilkins.

It chokes me.
It blackens the blood in my veins.
It colours the words I say.

It sharpens my teeth.
It hardens my heart.
It weakens my optimism.
It strips me of my lucid mentality.

Your games.
They strap me in securely.
They take me for a ride.
They expose my body and soul in their bare entirety.
They show every inch that I tried to hide.

They trick me.
They are the masters of illusion.
They convince me that it’s not a game.
They entice my feelings to reignite.

You’re so toxic for me.
You’re too self-absorbed and oblivious to see.
You make me fall time and time again.
Your hand the one to push me into the abyss of love.

You believe you’re better than the rest.
You think you’re the exception.
You believe you’re the puppeteer.
You think you’re superior to me.

You’re wrong.

Place yourself before a shard of glass.
Place yourself in my shoes.
Place yourself in the receiving position.
Place yourself before the gun you fire at me.

You can’t handle it.
You can’t handle the toxicity.
You can’t handle the games.

You can’t weather the dose.
You can’t endure the first drop.
You can’t stomach the veracity of your being.

Suffocate on your malevolent conscience.

2015 © Tammy-Louise Wilkins

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