Letters lodge in my lumpy throat.
So I swallow them back down like the handful of pills my stomach keeps
rejecting.
They too hate darkness and long for escape.
Determined words form and splinter through veins.
Coil and cut.
Barbed, they tear through my bloodstream,
and push up against paper-white skin, like braille you could never read.
Suffocating, the words form a simple question.
Clot my heart and choke to death, or let them flow out through my finger tips onto the many drafts I've bled over?
I fetch my typewriter for another long night.