i am snapping, cracking, skin bubbling
cut me open and i will pour myself into your hands
pops and bangs and fizzles
cartwheels and fists and hot air balloons
i am waves ripping the living of my stomach
grotesque, punk, soft and slippery
i am the smell of salt if it happened to be a sound
stinging, raw, an accent; not ever (could not be) the first and foremost flavor
put to use when things are just a little too  bland
i pull myself on a string asking to be let off at a place that is not a real stop, not a destination, not a goal
i am brakes squealing tired hissing smoke shooting
i am frustration building that crack that edge in your voice
as you say you tell me I am wrong (how am i wrong)
you say i am the sound of my name, six letters soft on your tongue, a mouthful of  marbles
i tried to hear what you said but my blood was rushing knees skidding head pounding heart screaming teeth scraping
so i could only glance at you and smile