Come down like a ton of bricks,
Like salt on an open wound,
Snap me like a twig,
Dig into my throat like a fishhook,
Bind me until my flesh is blue.
Countless times have you struck me.
I have learned to expect your blows.
I've spat till my mouth has run dry.
I've winced until the wrinkles have carved themselves
into my face like a knife to wax.
I've swallowed so many words, that they rise
in my throat like vomit.
Syllables dart out like bullets from a machinegun, like
wild birds from a tiny cage.
My lips have been bitten so that they bleed,
and my knuckles have gone white from clutching.
My head has bobbled up and down,
and my body has contorted and bounced with each sound.
I appear as if I am deflating, writhing like a dying animal, bending
over in submission to your hands clutching my throat.
I can't breathe and I can't stand erect.
My words won't come forth, I shatter like glass.
I pick the pieces up.
And I shall again tomorrow,
and the day after that.