tang

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there's this acrid-tasting coating all over my mouth. it's not leaving.
it's not washing.
if i tried to tell you how i felt (from that time three years ago up till now)
you'll run and shit yourself while jumping the train.
so, i'm keeping it to myself but the bitter flavor's not disappearing, only worsening like the rain.
and you keep resurfacing and i can't stop caring.

there's this bloody bit stuck between my teeth.
i can't bite down (or i'll snap the bones clean off your hand).
you have your desires and i've got my secret demands,
and i'm avoiding, i'm dreading, but there's no stopping.
the taste is increasing, is growing, is escalating into a yelp
now, my mouth is torn off instead of your hand.

maybe now, you'll be satisfied.
even if it's just plan old me (plain jane) instead--
at least try to fake it.

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