Wheels of Karma

I tremble when I see you around me.
How do I control my bodily reactions? The language it speaks is louder than any metaphor present in my poetry.

I offer you a glass of juice with two cubes of ice melting like a glacier into an ocean where the setting sun consumes some transparency to fill in the spaces of deficiency.

My palms need to stop fidgeting, but they continue to play some kind of a weird game with a fork. The fingers on my toes are seemingly mocking a parade by moving back and forth.

Fifteen minutes later...

I keep the fork back in its place and lift up a knife instead. Without a second thought, I thrust the knife through the Adam's apple in your neck and push it furthermore with the strength accumulated in my mind and my fist. A tributary of ichor spurts out of its redness all over the white shirt you are wearing. Bloodied and dead, your eyes are wide open and I see a creature with eight legs approaching towards your face.

"Thank you for the juice."

I smile and continue fidgeting with the fork. I cannot hear you anymore because the voices in my head are protesting against me.

Two years ago, you murdered my innocence and I set you free for the time being with the purpose of uprooting your lineage.

©songbriti