Swallowing

There were so many words to swallow

I nearly choked back my tongue.

They do not speak to me now and

I don’t dare talk to them.

I walked down the hill

and my legs went far faster than I had given them

permission to go.

So apparently they belong to you too.

I warned you and my body and the environment.

Presumably I chose to stay locked in a spice cabinet.

I cannot feel your morning voice anymore.

Accidental boiling hatred

sits safely in a pot on the stove,

covered, but still smells like rust and lies and burnt dandelions.

I wonder when he will look down at his plate.

But I know better than to expect his eyes

to see the fork, the knife and the spoon.

Little scraps left on his rummage sale dinner ware.

My eyes look up to his

as he stabs my spine,

lifts it to his distracted mouth,

and swallows without moving his jaw.

He laughs, she is across the room being thin and pretty,

while my organs are in his stomach.

Feeding a stranger.

Charity.

I begin

worrying for the walls because I realize the foundation does not exist.

Terrified for the windows, they would not survive the fall.

Like everything, they simply could not.

Again. Again.

I begged him to choke on my knees

but they went down his metal throat like the rest of my body; easy.

My lips lay pushed aside-

a garnish, never edible.

By the time my brown eyes

were chewed and swallowed

I could understand.