It is that thing underneath your noses; that one that our eyes never get to see. The way it opens up and closes, filling the air with its toxins, I’d feel so much safer if I was deaf.
Pretty looking, held in place by your jaw, guarded by your lip, telling the world stories that begin to chew and kill as soon as a word reaches the ears.
The thing underneath my nose, the one without an antidote for curing pain that it caused. It said;
“Poisonous? Enough of happiness. I am just speaking under distress words I’d rather not keep inside. They destroy my cavity and spill more toxins inside of me. I am not poisonous, I am just being real. The truth and lies I speak, the pot cover and blind folds that I steal. I am not poisonous. I am just being me.