Loco Motive

I can feel the boil beginning and hear the whisper of the heat.
The fury flows as my pump reaches its peak operating power.

Its not clear if I close my eyes or my vision simply fails in stress.
My fist grip without anticipation of reaching out but holding me in.

Frantic I truly try to keep on message and point dragging back again.
The feel of ten thousand wants pull the conversation in my losing direction.

Not to prove their value in view but to smash me with a turn of tongue.
Rage, its coming and I don't have the clarity to simply walk, run away.

My volume grows but not in value of production, now I scramble.
As if the lynch pin pulled and now the engine runs free of its cars.

The lacking for my worth in their way has won, and now no-one will.
No restraint of harshness in my tone or bottom to my blows.

I slash and pry ripping at any material that is the trestle that tied us.
Pulling in an attempt to collapse the conversation into wretchedness.

No words too cruel and no point to dreadful as my weapon now.
I swing away never seeing the damage I do to myself with each flurry.

My voice begins to scratch and fade slightly, sweat and pain pours.
All I wanted somewhere still there, hidden beneath rubble.

Passion that drove me decided that turned its favor towards wining a loss.
Understanding is what I sought, and merciless I too quickly became.

The fear of lonely never considered until the dark of solitary seeks me out.
Armor is but a hologram and my dread, the confirming my lack of worth.

My gut aches, my chest too heavy to breath.
The glare of anger gone, replaced by the blur of tears.


© Jeph Rants