The BurialĀ 

For eighteen years
Breathing was not without 
Joy pouring out 
Too loudly in
Frenzied conversation.
Interruption –
Need’s release. 

Thoughts married to  
My urgent vocalizer 

Passion surges out 
Tongue alive 
Lips move 
Frenzied thoughts released 
THISISME.

Gelatinous organ now

PRESSES

What’s Left of my porcelain shell.
Till furrowed brows
Almost reveal… 
But no,
The Right one,
Is the gooey gatekeeper of
My vociferation.  

Later they’ll find

Scratch marks inside
My ovaloid coffin.