Clenched teeth taste weak as they hold back the truth,
and each second wasted burns more than any mouth washed out,
but it’s worth it. “*******, Mom,” is what she says
as a sting of regret coated her tongue like cough syrup. She never holds back.
“I hope you ******* die.”
Liquid metal and salt fills her mouth to keep her quiet.
“You’ve got nothing to show for your life; that’s why Dad left.”
A heat is burning her tongue,
and leaves behind the painful taste of rubber,
like the marks her father left on the driveway.