Angry words caught a flutter
tickle the back of the throat.
Try to swallow, but then it aches with
swollen air to wedge them into compliance.
Lower flapped lids capture and rapture
acid, releasing self-inflicted burns.
Phrases churn, curses roil degrading
complex thoughts into basic chains
of low grade frustrations.
Sometimes I project outward a string, embarrassed
by the sudden outrage of profane honesty.
What is supposed to happen, to be healthy
would be to filter emotions, purge the ego,
then eventually release the resulting pain
as if it never existed. And yet it persists,
lingering foul in the air
and sapping your space and energy.
How nice it must be to not eat your own words.