this is not a game

for the thin-skinned

or the faint of heart…

the overly-sensitive will

be eaten alive

chewed up and spit out

like bites of rotten fruit…

they will crucify you

hang you on their crosses

of judgment and despair

sneer at you and your

words

with a cruelty that will

rip the pen from your fingers

or silence the typing on

any keyboard…

its an insidious game

here on the horizon

the buzzards stare

from every fencepost

you can be lunch

or blown to bits

as minefields dot

this literary landscape

claws grab for ankle

dragging you down

through their mud and sludge

and often through rivers

 of your own

bloody runoff