To the Teeth

You found a book

and judged the cover.

You told a lie, so

I told another.

You wore your welcome out

The door to wipe your feet

And return for more.

You ate my fruit,

You sipped my cup,

You showed me when

I had enough.

There’s a stranger in my bed.

There’s a stranger in my head.

There’s a stranger in my home.

There’s a stranger in my bones.

What poor child is born of your blood?

One that exists in earth and mud.

Thick, suffocating mud

like quicksand.

Filling spaces in between.

Stealing oxygen.

Happy with its rotten stench

And disappearing, lifeless wench.

What hell is this fury for?

One so deep it’s bottomless.

A place to burn forever more,

Where nothing lives as it did before.

Eating ashes, molten core,

A burning flame to open sores.

Now I lay me down to weep,

These memories are yours to keep,

And if I die before I sleep,

I’ll take them with me to the teeth.