50-Pound-Pine-Tree

I can hear your nails chipping away at the torn plaster underneath the table.

Do you even realize you're doing it?

Two stories above a building next to the one you're in,
That I can feel your nail scraping at my temple like a little child scratching at the rust on the chains of a broken park swing?

How the excuse for a whisper that you're breathing out is tickling my lips in nausea?

Tell me what it takes to hold myself from running through the walls of all the rooms until I reach yours to scream into your face and break the table with my neck.

Tell me
How do I feel once you grasp thick steel?

Sometimes I want to get out of my skin and tear my limbs apart.
It will first be the throat, because that is where I feel the first.

when you put your hand on the iron railing a shiver goes up my spine,
as you yawn real big a 50 pound pine tree is shoved into my mouth
and when you step on the carpet without any socks on I am put into a room that is made of synthetic spandex covered with hemp doused in a pink 2-inch shag rug that encompass me from my tongue

when you clear your chest, I can feel the plating around the esophagus shudder and shake as the air recedes.
no, you don't understand. I don't feel it as if I am you, and your throat is my throat,
no, I feel it as if I am the throat itself. and not just any throat.
your throat. and I am right there, inside our chest, looking at the walls as I swallow and shudder and decline.

I want to leave but I won't, and you'll talk to me, and I'll try to pay you mind, but your shoes.

Uunhappy on concrete ground holding up the building.

they cannot breathe.
I cannot breathe.
I need to inhale I need to inhale I need to inhale I need to inhale

(but only half, never full, never full-
because then they'll see
and that is not good.)