Sour Shame.

bloody mess

Nothing is static besides the bubbles in my veins;
Chaotic beats from my heart to my brain,
Sorry-salty-sweaty – the puckered face of sour shame;
Once willing – twice insane;
never to stand straight up again.
Everything is frantic alongside the steps on parade;
A taste glued to my tongue more retched than fermented lemonade,
Tangy-touchy-begrudging – like every promise ever made;
Once bitten – never displayed;
never to listen to a word said.
Something’s can’t be reined in by the rope or chain;
pitiful spaces for the paces of my racing brain,
Angry-vengeful-hostile – pencils found to write down my name;
Once a ‘squaw’ – always a shame;
never to be ignored like before again.