Poems can't hold the pounds of words I want to spill
It's absorbed all the linguists it can take by now
I've got nothing left, nothing good
My gums hurt, my beds hotly humid,
I'm weighed down, the rage has abandoned me once more,
I can't cope like this, when even my coping tastes like defeat.

I stay home and sty my own attempts to leave
I'm out on a mission to block all the exits
like the opposite of a safety sergeant
and the flames are crawling up the walls
like assassins in their pitch black suits of night
and I can't breathe in this air while I'm burning my own mask.