I think that God and I must've quarreled in a past life.
What else could explain this baby tongue he's put behind my gums?
It fails me at social functions, at dinner parties,
clicking like an arthritic joint as I struggle to get the right
words out.
And on dates?
Please.
Last night, my tongue sprouted legs and jumped out of my mouth.
I watched it splash into her tomato soup and burn itself alive.
I heard the snap of each muscle,
the festive pop of every vessel.
The blonde girl just sat there, disgusted.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
I think that God and I must've quarreled in a past life.
What else could explain this baby tongue he's put behind my gums?
It fails me at social functions, at dinner parties,
clicking like an arthritic joint as I struggle to get the right
words out.
And on dates?
Please.
Last night, my tongue sprouted legs and jumped out of my mouth.
I watched it splash into her tomato soup and burn itself alive.
I heard the snap of each muscle,
the festive pop of every vessel.
The blonde girl just sat there, disgusted.
