by Haze Chestnut

As if all at once,

the sweetness that once rested upon my tongue

had slowly begun to sour,

and at first I did not mind.

But the sourness

quickly turned to bitterness

and it was no longer a flavor I could stomach.

I fear that the bile

creeping up my throat

will turn to venom

when it inevitably reaches my mouth,

and I fear that the longer I hold it in,

it may rot my gums.

Once it has weakened them

to a point where it can seep through the cracks,

I fear I will not be able to hold it back.

For now,

I bite my tongue

and feel the blood pool

around the sharp of my teeth.

Maybe if I bite hard enough,

my severed tongue

will no longer be my controller.