All the things I want to say,
hanging out in my mouth.
Waiting for me to spit them out, or
for Salivation Soldiers
to eat away at their empty,
meaningless flesh.
I get the urge to annotate,
and over-compensate
for lack of knowledge, and
all the things I complicate.
All the things I want to say,
set free in my temple.
Running riot, ruining all the eye candy
for my favorite prophet,
eyes glazed over.
All the things I want to say,
burning holes in my mouth.
Cautiously,
I'll gulp them down.
Let them enter my bloodstream
and eventually they'll become me.
