This Wednesday’s word is: Obsidian (noun)ob·sid·i·an
/əb’sidēən,äb’sidēən
noun
a hard, dark, glasslike volcanic rock formed by the rapid solidification of lava without crystallization.
The words spilled out onto the sidewalk
Like blood gushing from a wound.
A terribly deep cut, right across the mouth.
Word vomit.
Everywhere.
Puking up syllables and inappropriate sounds
Left and right.
Just when you think it’s over,
You taste the familiar coarseness that is common with
Regurgitated words.
Words you swallowed long ago
To suppress some sort of
Rage
Nervous tension
Sadness
Disbelief
They taste like week-old meatloaf
With the scent of iron, the bloody kind.
Here it comes again.
You try to stop
But suddenly all that emotion is pouring out onto the
Receiver’s polished shoes.
They’re so damn entitled, aren’t they?
So ignorant.
So infuriating.
So hurtful.
A retort?
You think not.
And here comes the vomit again.
Spewing insults as fast as the words can travel from
The locked box in your heart and the passion can pump them
Up your esophagus and shoot out of your mouth like
A canon.
Boom. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
BAM.
They can’t respond.
You’ve filled their mouth with your word vomit.
They turn and walk in a dejected shuffle,
Away from the scene of the crime.
Now full of anger
Self- conscious timidness
And surprise
To go unleash on another soul, deserving or not.
Then the thought floats through your mind,
Your oh-so-relaxed mind,
Maybe they were undeserving…
Just maybe.
Just the thought of it
Calls real vomit to the mouth.
But you chose to ignore.
No responsibility here.
You soon forget.
But they don’t.
They don’t forget.
They unleash.
And the cycle starts again.
Go gag yourself.
Photo Credit: Olga Nydia Galindo, Artist
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