by Elin Lewis
Like a stone in the mouth, you can feel the dirt
That circles it like a hardened earth,
The tart throb of salt on the tongue,
A breath dragged ragged to salted lung.
Too hard to hide behind my teeth,
Too big to bury deep beneath,
Too sharp to keep in its gagging sheath
It retches out, the wretched thing,
Bringing with it an acid ring
That reeks the room in which we stand,
That scars this throat; a blistered brand.
And as I reel once more from pain
This lying tongue swears the old refrain:
‘Never again. Never again.’
Elin Lewis is an avid reader and writer.