Inside Of Me

The words bubble up inside me.
Like black tar boiling up to the surface.
I almost choke from the feeling
of bile coming up my throat.

I try to suppress it.
Pretend in a crowded room that I'm not
dead on the inside.

The black tar circles inside of me.
It enjoys the company of my once useful organs
that use to be bright pink.

I feel a thousand pounds heavier
the black tar pinning me to my chair.
I feel it reaching to my toes
and twisting around my lips.

"Well, what is it?" She asks again.


The words bubble up inside me.
Like black tar boiling up to the surface.
I almost choke from the feeling
of bile coming up my throat.

I try to suppress it.
But this time it refuses to be unheard
The words push themselves up
my esophagus
through my wind pipes
until I hear myself whisper softly

"My mom is dead."