I drop my letters,
like pebbles in a river.
Watch it skip ten times over,
leaving ripples in its scatter.
Fear the repercussions
of irrevocable decisions.
Step on knives when I utter,
slipping smiles like a stutter.

I can hold my own water,
build a dam on every crater —
filling holes to hold a spill,
breaking crayons and a quill.
Write a truth that doesn’t matter,
begging hearts to surrender.
Speaking silence, selling souls,
lying ready — lies, gold.

Twenty skins, twenty sins;
head and heart — burning twins.
Suffering on a whim,
pray again, pleasing him.
Every word is a sling,
aimed to fire, not to skim —
but I let my bullets fly,
the barrel pointed at my side.