i spilt tea on my floor
tonight
and it reminded me of you
the way the sticky sweet
coated each tile
the way it stuck to my skin
like an undeniable sin
like you
suicidal tendencies
with starved remedies
breathe me in like a camel ninety nine
i parch your mouth
and chap your lips
like a deceitful crime
i am the sound of silence
that plasters your room
you sit there like it's your
self-proclaimed tomb
and i sit here awaiting
a silent conversation
to resume
my thoughts are absurd
and obscured
and they twist and churn
rarely settling
as though they are waters post stir
i do not like being less than
and i am afraid i am never more than
and i'm always settling
for less than
because i am
less than
hot tea sticks to my lips
and i can feel a death sentence on
my tongue
and it tastes like ***
mixed with ***** and wine
and i cannot comprehend why
i would make such a drink
but i cannot comprehend
why i do much of
anything
you say i am thunder
that you love the sound of me
but in my wake you blunder
and i realize
how i am a horror story
that you shoved with the rest of
the skeletons in your closet
and i realize
i reek the most
instigated arguments
tearing parchments
isolated little girl
i am alone
i am alone
i am alone
i am surrounded by people
but i am alone
do you hear me screaming
for you to look at me
and see me
for all you see is
sticky sweet
like i am spilt tea
you could lap up
on your charcoal tongue
cancer smells good on you
it smells like lilac lullabies
like lavender daydreams
and lily sighs
you are a nightmare
lost in a fantasy
of being something real
and i am alone
lost in a reality
of wanting adventure and fantasy
but nobody could foresee
the greenest of envies
that sat in my fragile mind
all i could feel anymore
was blind
for i cannot see
i cannot feel
i cannot breathe
help me
my heart is not beating
and i can feel it rising
to the ceiling of my throat
i'm afraid i will choke
each of my organs have shifted upwards
i cannot think
my tongue is not in my mouth
rather it sits in your hand
and you dip it into spilt tea
before asking if i would like a drink
i am smoke
sifting down your throat
chasing all of the memories
of happiness that no longer
sit in your chest
instead they dance
and adhere to the floor
as hot tea sticks like glue
and holds you hostage
and my thoughts run rampant
and spill onto my floor
with the black tea
that suppresses my urge to breathe
and it is like it is spilling into my lungs
and you ask me
if this is fun
but you hold my tongue in your fist
and my lips still feel smothered
by your kiss
because your lips feel like
your fist
and my blood oozes
like spilt tea
and you want to take a drink.