Facedown In The Updrafts Poem by Matty See

Speak quietly windstorm.

Your razor blade tornado has cut my blue depth to the compassion muscles.
Sheltered in this insecurity bubble-bath, where the warmth of tears could bleed out my slow release artery.
Melted arm wax on cold linoleum tiles that refuse to come clean with themselves
How can you expect to polish away my self-destruction stains?
I should open the windows and let out my head steam, but my thoughts are agoraphobic. So I imprison them in logic bomb-shelters, living like cockroaches they hide from enlightenment.

Scamper when the truth turns on.