My fingernails are ***** from the blackness of the graphite coated words
refusing to come to actualization.

My tongue chokes on the half formed sentences
swimming in the back of my throat.

They fill my mouth with a bitterness
coming only with the acidity known to unrequited thoughts.

Physiological markers of one who has simply too much to feel,
the penance for scar tissue of wounds who too quickly "healed."