You know that lump in your throat?
The one that feels like you’ll choke any second?
Those are the words you sent to die in your stomach
They’re the ones you wanted to say
The ones you thought might fix everything
Or maybe they’d fucking kill you, who knows?
But you swallow that lump, and you breathe and you wonder if those words would ever be given a voice, granted an audience
because God knows they’re not dead,
they’re churning around in your stomach
giving you hell for what you’ve done
And look, I’m sorry, this is the best that I can do. I hope that counts for something.