You foam at the mouth, your

 Words dribble down and

 Hit

 My

 Hand

 One by one

 In a caustic line.

 The soapy bubbles reflect

  My saccharine history. My words,

  Do they nauseate?

  I dull your agony

  With the click of a finger.

  Reduce feelings

  To

   Dust in the corner of a textbook.

  Your words eat through

   Our dead cells;

   I need acid to neutralise the burn-

   I have only water and throw haphazardly,

   We toss and turn.