Start Praying


I told you I wanted words

Words.  Words.  Words.

Bastard.

I already knew how to read a dictionary.

Bastard.

Piss taking.  Word sucking vampire.

You arrogant tosser.

With your Oxford University acceptance speech.

Silence. 

Cowardly. 

Dastardly.

Bastardly. 

Unacountable silence.

Forbidden to contact you, because you would have to adjust your internal voice to hear my

Rant and scream, because hindsight tells me it is my every right.

I’ll see you.

I’ll see your hand.

And I’ll raise mine, to swipe your smirking face.

You should have put this bitch down.

Because she’s writing your name in a crossword.

What’s yellow and infected and begins with a C?

Nope.

Six letters.

What’s mean and stingey without a heart?

Five letters.

What’s the word to watch and wait?

Four letters.

I got words, all of the words, I got words everywhere I look, stuffed in cushions, behind the wallpaper, under the carpets, in my drawers and bathroom cupboard.

They even insulate the roof.

Words are my religion.

Yes, I got words.

I got them all.

Each one a prayer.

Start praying.

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