My coarse tongue bleeds for salty,
numb sickness
blending the lump in the back of my throat
into an emotion ridden smoothie -
mucus preparing my anatomy to liberate
foul acid between the lids of my eyes,
to the curves of my chin
where cotton awaits to soothe my stressed neck.
I am coarse inside -
chemically imbalanced.
Like a lemon,
hands compress my guts into acetic juice
and I will dehumanise these cheeks.
Cry baby, cry.
_________________
Bethany Louise Rose
19th April 2015
@ 11:39 pm
