syllables taste like skinny vomit
lingering on my tongue
like chunks of rotten dinner
that submerge into the toilet
and eventually into the sewers
where i make my bed every night
each sentence lives in the gaps
between my missing teeth
making ruins of my molars
with its exorbitant granulated sugar
the old dinners oozing up my tracheal tubes
and the words i left unsaid are sitting at our desks
they make love on my tongue and come out sticky
wet with messy hair and goopy minds
your hair makes winding rivers envious / and the night wonder / if it could get any darker / and the weeping willows behind the auditorium sob, even more, / than those kids do sitting in the soaking first-floored bathrooms
i am still staring into your open eyes
wandering someplace else
still shoving that vomit down deep
into my intestines again with spit
and nail-biting and a thesaurus of reasons
to suck in syllables back to their sewers
you asked if you could sit next to me
the puke almost came out
do you wanna talk? / do you wanna be friends? / do you wanna hang out? / do you? / do you? / do you?
