I don't have lips,
I don't like lips.
They lie,
they deceive,
they hurt,
they breathe.
The air is foul.
Like fresh,
clean,
suds,
turned to dirt,
and washed mud.
The words are harsh.
Killing me softly,
the doves cry.
The radio jumps.
The words screamed.
Held inside?
All I know is lips taste bad,
after hurting my stomach,
they release what I had.
They let out what I hold,
letting go off it all.
I don't like lips.
I don't have lips.
And I more than don't mind.