This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.
No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.
Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.
How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness
shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.