There is a pile,
in the middle of the room,
of jumbled words
and misspoke feelings

And it crowds into itself,
and slips and fills the wide spaces,
between painful moments
and awkward silences.

Could they be gathered up,
in these too tired arms,
and dropped unceremoniously,
into a bucket?

Oh! no, wait...
I want ceremony.

I want vigils of candles,
long black robes of ancient sects,
and the deep ominous humming of one
who is doing magic.

And in that solemn moment-
pregnant with meaning and purpose,
take those words
in a gratuitous blaze of fire,
and carry them away,
into the wind,
so I never, ever, have to hear them
in my head again.