I want to choke on it, let it smother
its way down my throat, just so
I can puke it back up again.
At least I'd have something
for my efforts.
Everything has a story,
and yet, I'm deaf and dumb now.
Not even the dirt beneath my nails
can inspire me, though I'll scrape it out
and put it on display, anyway.
© Kerri Jenkins, March, 2007
