Vitriol

The whirlwind of his words
though expected, always knocks me down
leaving my knees weak and wobbly
scattering my composure like a bundle of straw
the slurry of alcohol and contumelious derision
pours forth contemptuously
from his frothy, sneering mouth
the tar black viscosity of toxicity
crushes me with the ferocity of a ton of bricks
then dribbles down deep into my denuded heart
corroded and misshapen beyond recognition
creating a stygian worthlessness
tongue tied and petrified, I stand rooted
facing the obnoxious aural onslaught
spleen spent, he staggers away
my timorous soul wrings it hands
bemoaning the lack of courage at disposal
but promising resolution in future
which, in truth, eludes with regularity every time.

What do you see # 91