up to the top
it's gonna spill
over. Even a glass
has boundaries.. It's like

a wallet overstuffed
till it splits the hide,
from all that's stuffed
inside. It rips

the stitches
in your pants as you
do a dance to fit
it in. It falls out

at the slightest
bend. But you can't undo
the past. It's a puddle
of sour milk spilled on the floor.