the pitch of your scream
makes my ligaments chafe
my ears
are thick with syrup
a barrier between your words;
sickly. your bleeding gums drip
with fizzing bitter-lemon nectar.
your hatred
in my extra white inhale and the soda
there is definition and that is to say
we should not be here.
my aching thoughts resonate,
the birds shriek and their feathers are plucked raw, relentlessly by 7 winds
and still they soar.
and the glistening golden carp swimming against the pressure of
spectators cringing as
he sinks once more to the dull bottom.
garnished with traffic light coins
spinach soup pondweed,
a barrier to a breath.
and from the rubbery carp tail mimicking bird wings to your grinding teeth,
each of us suffocates in correlation
