when my lips are sewn shut by fate
and i can no longer weave my words
in the way i always do,
i’ll tear them till they’re red and raw
unpick every stitch
and twisted knot,
like the ones inside my stomach when my mind is no longer free
and through the blood
that’s seeping into my mouth,
tasting like the pennies i spent
on the pay phone to you,
and dry as the air
from those summer evenings i spent
head out the car window
and thinking of you,
i’ll speak to you
in withered words
and a trembling voice,
begging to be saved
from my endless melancholy
and worshiping your eyes in the sunlight