There’s lace blooming in my mouth.
But I hold it down,
Hammering nails into my tongue,
So that you’ll never see,
What dips beneath the spit.

There’s lace blooming in my mouth,
And it grows from under the muscle,
Billowing and curling,
Until I have to clench my yellowing teeth so you won’t know.

There’s lace blooming in my mouth,
And it teases my lips,
As I try to bite them shut,
Until a trickle of blood dyes the concealed lace.

There’s lace blooming from my mouth.
It’s scarlet tresses cascade over my barriers,
And falls to the floor.
It takes over the carpet,
Creeping up desks and chairs,

Trying to bury in my fists what I could never suppress.
And I grip the fabric in anticipation.