There’s a pit in my stomach, the one I feel when the world could cave in on itself or when I’ve drank too much tequila.
My steps heavy as I sway back
and forth
From?
Dread or the bottle,
I can’t tell
I try to fill the gaps in my,
Memory
Teeth
Clandestine scars
With good deed’s thinking the pain would go away with a little bit of gold holding me together
although there’s a corrosion,
building underneath.
Am I still,
The molested child
Cavity
Oldest son/daughter
That uses comedy to slip past friends that pick up fast
The unforeseen.
