The words are out before I can catch them,
dropped like stones in a pond
they create waves the second they land
and sink too deep for me to fish them out.
I cannot return them to my mouth
where they should have stayed,
where my teeth should have acted like prison bars,
keeping the rabble locked away
out of sight and out of mind,
so you wouldn’t see the mess
I’ve been sweeping beneath the carpet
every time you come to visit.
Like every loud and sudden noise,
they inspire silence in their wake.
A look of confusion as you reach for them.
You turn them over in the light
only to find you can’t identify
what it is I’ve let slip of.
Instead you dust off your hands
so the stones turn to petals and crumble.
It is almost like I never said them at all.
Daily Prompt: Messy