eat your words.

The worms,
The maggot skins,
The Laughing gass,
The freash sweat,
The sweet cream.
Pouring from my mouth,
to yours, to mine, from yours, from ours.
Trying to get the last word in. Manipulation currdles the lies.
The soup is sickeningly thick, and I miss the care we used to harbor.
Smiling into our bowls, and shiny spoons.
Pretending it tastes the same, as it did,
When we were young.