Your voice, the vines around my neck,
Slowly robbing me of breath,

Your words, the knives against my skin,
You pull them out then push them in.

Your lips, the arm that throws the daggers,
As they trip and fall and stagger.

Your eyes that stare down at your feet.
The soul behind them hides deceit.

Your breath, the fog that blurs glass lenses.
Slowly numbing sight and senses.

And your heartbeat, quickly racing,
Distracts me from my idle gazing.

Your eyes, the salt inside the wound,
They see my hurt all round the room.

Your voice, the vines around my neck,
The ones that never loosen or stretch.

Your words, the stones, hit hard at that.
My soul, the place youre aiming at.

Your breath, the mist that fogs my eyes,
So I believe in all your lies.

Your voice, the vine, the silent fighter,
Slowly pulling; tighter, tighter

Author's Notes: Let's see. I really HATE when people yell at me. (specially my parents) Although ... yelling ... theres been a lot of it lately. So this is a poem about how I feel when people yell at me. (specifically one person, but whatever) I guess choking' is the prevailing word that comes to mind when I think about getting yelled at.