Debate

 

Conversations are raging in my teeth. Enamel chips and flakes like words I want to say. My palate is coated by your abandonment, a bitterness that can't be licked away. My teeth are dueling consciences, that bite at theoretical cheeks. To talk to who is not listening or to eat my cheeks instead-- to swallow indigestible garbage or hide it beneath my tongue-- to talk to who won't hear me or to swallow what I want-- the debate is never won.