a cauldron brewing

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tight melancholy tucked in my heart,

tired tongue tucked in my mouth.

you wait for a quip that will never come.

repressed anger bubbles on my fingertips,

a cauldron brewing at the back of my throat,

a churning ocean of acid to char your pink flesh.

but I shove it down to the depths of my soul,

it's ok. endure. some other time.


Photo by Juanjo Menta from Pexels

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