the transparent words fall out her mouth,
like they never belonged there.
she knows that she's running her mouth,
she knows these things aren't to be said.

her words scatter around the floor,
and her anxiety presses for her to fall
to her knees and collect the words
so that no one else can see her guts spilt.

she knows that nothing good can come
of this, and she knows it so well.
and yet, against her will entirely,
she's forced to say these things, because
without it, her depression would be bored
without being able to tear her apart.