I think it would be easier to super glue my lips together,
to bind my teeth with mortar, than it would be to tell you
these rotten things brewing in my throat.
This poison that sits on the tip of my tongue keeps me awake
while you sleep in the same bed; the microscopic distance
between us feels so much grander, like the pacific ocean -
a compilation of trillions of water particles is all that it is
but it can beat you and break you and drown you if it wants to.
There are hundreds of red rivers rushing through me
and I want to let them out. I would rather spill what shivers
beneath this damaged skin than know it will never be enough.