burn
my mouth with fire
cut
my tongue
with knives
throw
myself into a pit
bang
my head into the wall
slice
my wrist slowly
until the blood would run dryly
unto the floor
and lastly,
make bubbles
through my throat
so my words
become
what i spoke
YOU ARE READING
coffee stains
Poetrythe cracks on this cup still remains, its stains still unwashed.