cover your shame in a brown paper bag
twisting and turning (and ebbing and flowing)
like some snake-like writhe,
glaring it's eyes every now so often
to look at you.
you hope to forget it,
bury it six feet underneath.
it's raging like fire,
it wants to look at you
to eat you alive,
to churn in your gut
and mix the insides.

*on the other side*

I'm walking towards the glass covering the west side of the mall,
covered in snow and dancing icy pirouettes, smiling
and laughing,
and catching a singular snowflake on my fingertip.

I think this is quite unspectacular. please crit, I shall return them soon.
Quote by icaneatcatfood
On second thought, **** tuning forks. You best be carrying around a grand piano that was tuned by an Italian