Elements rush to fill the vacuum left by your backwards steps but somehow I still end up suffocating-
oxygen just can't compare after that particular whirlwind.
It is not a matter of erasing footprints with tides and time.
I see water, water everywhere but not a drop worth drinking.
The sticky traces of lips that dripped such sugarcoated words are not your run-of-the-mill stains.
Shouting will not get these persistent spots out, damn it, out!
So what have you got for me, Backtracker?
There are messes to be cleaned, and I did the dishes Ilast/I week.