betrayed by our bodies

 

my tongue was a tyrant
violating the back of my bottom-teeth 
over and over 
licking and feeling the ridges and bumps
experiencing the taste of my tobacco shame
stale and waiting, while i thought of you
blood seemed to seep through
metallic and tasty in a morbid way
but i knew my spit was not pink
anyways

your knuckles were abusers
to the roots who lived in your scalp
fisting clumps of your hair
and painting them golden
against a white wall
watching, i sat always silent
but never as silent as you

the only sounds
if you listened close
were the desperate rips of
your hair from your mind
and the slapping of paints
then there were the gulps stuck in my throat
and my cigarette burning at the end of the night
still, i’m checking for the taste of blood 

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