guttermouth

your hyperbolic words--
like wraiths interred--
scratch, scratch at my neural pathways:

i've never had to eat my own,
but with your phrases of absolutes
comes a feast:
nevers, and
forevers, and
hate and love
and Hell and Heaven--

a feast 'pon which you will surely choke.

your non-commital rhetoric
burns like cochlear poison;
a cancer, a sickness, a languid hellfire

with ev'ry parting of your putrescent lips.
with ev'ry word comes boiling bile:
hot, smelly, self-assuring.
death of mind and heart alike.

i opine, i thrive; my words will not die.

i do not dine.
i do not dine.