Terminal

I have this guilt

That’s filling my stomach

Drops with a sickly smell

Finds corners in my gut

And settles

A pool in the pit of me

I’m worried it’ll get into my lungs

And I won’t be able to breath

And then how will I tell you

When my mouth is full of this soot

That I feel overwhelmed

How will I speak

When my body is drenched

In this dead weight feeling

Throat clogged

Mouth bitter

I imagine you with a pair of scissors

Blunt and rusting

Taking my stomach and sawing at it

Making crooked edges

In my swollen organ

So the guilt can trickle out

Find some release

A break for air

To lift the weight

From my waist

And cover the floors with it