deepundergroundpoetry.com

It's Fine, I Have A High Tolerance For Rupturing.

You snitched the language
right beneath
the buds of my tongue
and proceeded  
to forcefully freeze them  
instead
 
I gnaw  
godlessly
on that blasphemous muscle
 
Fonts in baptismal
hamburger
puddles of red

 
Cryo based
aftertastes
by toothpastes  
with shavings of lead  
 
 
Heavy
sweaty hums won't
hover heavenward;
Won't wander...
won't drift
from the rifts within
my sour skin

They stay sinfully  
sticky ;
Spilling wicked
wetspots
under
pilling  
flannel sheets
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