11

When I say these words again
they will be alive.
-- A lie.
I will no longer feel them,
mean them,
be them.
Everything inside leaks out
like sap from a maple.
I can either collect each drop as it falls
or let them float free.
But not one drop is the same.
Each a different place
a different face.

You think I mean this
but I don't.
I hate each word
like it's acid on my teeth,
threatening to disintegrate me.

The truth bites at my tongue
like raw honey for the first time.
Admitting what I've done,
shame eats me like a flock of mosquitoes
sipping at every inch of my skin.