we wash our mouths out daily

damn writer's block.
i don't think it's really writer's block as much as it is the case that i use the backspace far too often in my writing. that, or i feel like i have nothing to write about. some days i feel like crying. right now i do, and i don't know why. have i hit menopause prematurely? is it because my allergies are taking over my body and forcing it to revolt? is it because i ate 5 cookies today and indian food and am utterly disgusted right now? blah blah blah goes the little voice that sits above my right ear and whispers hissing noises that trail into the darkest corners of my mind and resonate within the cavities of my chest. i woke up with the worst case of halitosis sluggishly seeping out of my mouth, turning my tongue greyish yellow because of all the rotting inside. and yes,, i ate cookies for breakfast lunch and dinner. but maybe the stench, this languid seeping sewage inside my mouth goes deeper than just the last bits of cookie lingering in my teeth. maybe it's because i still listen to the lies of satan. maybe it's because i envy people on the subway who hold hands or sneak kisses to one another. maybe it's the green jealousy that seeps up from the tar pits in my organs and spews out into my mouth. maybe this stench is from the fact that i worry too much about never getting married, or never being loved, or being fat, or never feeling at right with my body or never measuring up to who i want to be or dfjkljlkj;, just all of these things that are churning and gurgling inside of me that i suppress with ever smile and absent conversation when really all i want to say is---WHAT AM I DOING? ugh, man, Lord. it's at these times when we don't brush our teeth that we realize all of the refuse that sin has built up in our flesh. i don't know why i say 'our' maybe it makes me fee better. self conscious again. listening to the lies again. how desperately i need God, it's indescribable, really, the stench that emanates from my body. i want to scrub it off, scale it off, shed the pounds of grease and filth. not now not now. my muscles are tensing up inside of me as i cling to my burden--why do i do this? it's my ball and chain and i've grown accustomed to the weight, the sick little indulgence of pain, of chastising myself for this that, for looking one way, talking like so, eating this and that, living inside this white picket fence of society---and i'm fucking sick of it. i imagine all of this, it's the ball and chain that i have the key to, slipped stealthily inside my mouth, behind my tongue with it's coppery taste settling inside my mouth. i'm free. i'm free. i'm free. praise God. and yet i don't dance, i don't jump, i cry, and smile out of the corners of my mouth, raw from washing, and i rest.

and tomorrow i will wake up. and still be alive. alive and not existing. but beyond existing, walking without ball and chain, breathing free from pestilence and shame. walking, lightly, powerfully. loved and free.