I have fallen down holes one hundred words deep
And with every slippery movement of my tongue,
My world seems that much darker.
I have formed sounds in my mouth good for nothing but regretting
And released them as poison to the ones I love.
Droplets of toxins filling relationship coffins
Faster than the undertakers can have them prepared.
I swear, on whatever is meaningful to you,
I was not born with silver ***** in hand.
In my youth I spoke truth with the purest intent,
Building mountains I would climb to feel closer to the sun.
But as my feet grew longer and my eyes grew wider,
My ears learned the ways of treacherous men.
The first time I felt myself falling it was fun.
The rush of my own voice ripping its way past.
The second time I felt myself falling it was fun.
The thrill of the drop made my heart stand still.
The third time I felt myself falling I heard drums.
Faintly at first, but no doubt, they were drums.
There was the sound of skin, stretched over emptiness,
Shaking in the wake of a violent hand.
My eyes folded narrow, slipped shut, opened wide.
I could not discern whether I was the drum or the hand.
Both shaken and violent, empty and strong,
My skin stretched over my ribs and under my fingernails.
Seventy words down in the hole I heard the pulse,
At ninety words began the droning.
Matchless tone, like piercing your lungs
And listening to the shout that escapes.
At ninety-five words I hated them collectively.
At one hundred words I hated my self.
I have fallen down holes one hundred words deep.
Please excuse my silence.
The darkness that looms one hundred words deep
Is sticky, and icy, and true.
I am not afraid of heights, only of leaving them.
And I refuse to fall in front of you.