Writing,
is death by pen.
And I like very much
To be butchered with a blunt axe
Than to drown in globs of sweet.

I like it when the toothless axe
hits my collar bone.
Breaks it
and peels skin.
every sound
every shriek
every red drop
and every sloppy detail
of the process,
I soak in.
A tiny glimpse of the glorious sun before dying
is all that I care about.

But some writers
and a lot of poets,
humans trained and untrained to kill with pain
kill instead
with honey.
It's a more horrific kind of death.
A dumb death
gulping down every sweet sentence
until your throat clogs
and you can't speak
you can't scream.
It pours out of your eyes,
and your ears
and it clogs up the brain,
the sweet wax.
So you cant think.
It's a dull, sugary death
where you don't bleed...