Futile

Sobs echo behind
words so sharp
and painful,
you explain your
story frosted over
with icy contempt,
laced with cyanide hatred,
my heart is pounding
in my ears,
the adrenaline
pumps like hell-fire
through my veins,
limbs numb from pain.

As the story draws to a close
my fingers clench like a vise,
and I'm ready for war,
not the gulf war
or even Vietnam,
ready for total annihilation
of apocalyptic proportions,

In my white hot rage
the words bubble,
thoughts boil,
tongue toils to release
the unfathomable lashing.

A soft touch on my face,
light fingertips caress
ears blood red,
frozen now,
broken in doubt,
resigned to my revenge.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved