You woke up tangled in your sheets
again - flipping back and forth
looking for a less lonely place to
sleep. The sky turned grey and so
did the ocean. Your skin looks
sallow when you sit in a yellow
room. You are such a reflection
of your surroundings and morning
after morning you wake up all alone
wondering why your heart is just
as bitter as words you fill your
head with.
—  Rebeka Anne, unhappiness feeds unhappiness

You helped the hornets build a nest inside your throat. 

The short tempered stings are swelling the chords of your voice.

In the animosity, the hornets breed.

You hold bitterness inside yourself, 

a preference for the bite in your character.

Your breath is shaken by the curdled poison of your spirit.
The hornets multiply.

End your fondness of the venom —
Knock down the nest that houses wounds.


Let it plunge into the acidity of your stomach.
Watch the insects of resentment rot.

The earth is slowing down for you to catch your breath.
Do not be sullen to its comfort —

The world,
in its spite,
will pick up speed
if you refuse your lungs a break.

—  Alessia Di Cesare, In Animosity, The Hornets Breed