I never understood his poetry
The way he paints pictures
But never says what he means
My bones ache with my uncertainty
My lungs beg for air
As I hold in everything I wish I could say
The words are trying to claw their way out
Tearing apart my throat until I taste blood
I need to reclaim my backbone
Remove the wishbone I’ve put in its place
If I die, it’ll be by internal combustion
And my compliance was what lit the fuse.
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