Such outward sorrow as clads your smile

Betrays the secret you hold.

Far too long from haunting

it now acts with substance and you,

racked with self-imposed stains

have left it too late to lighten

 

And each time you spit, you will see it.

 

The weight upon the back of your neck

leaves you hunched over words.

A thickening pad between your shoulders

deforms your expectations for living.

It is in death you seek forgiveness

but you fail as it has rendered you

Helpless. Intention vomits over

all your thoughts and actions

 

And each time you spit, you will see it.

 

Such inward regret as darkens your heart

remains testament to your abject

cowardice every day you

refuse to clear your throat.

If you believe it is really too late

For laundry, for water, it is

 

And each time you spit, you will see it.