Loose Cuspids

To whom who lost and ran, coming across with a trifling sense of self to he who handed out clear perspective and out the blue comes the red, yellow and a couple of oranges. I would go out regularly picking trees of different fruit for this is worth more than a single distinguished taste. Had ate from them all and some had left my sensitive skinny stomach groaning with a benign mind that began to question the root from where it is bore, while a tender pious heart rejected all before the mind let this tongue and some of these fine teeth that continuously nibbled on bad fruit to have a taste. I am not well, I tell them! While screaming these words in agony, it seems like these words are the whooshing air between the leaves of trees, suddenly the ears that hear air knows not the language of the universe but they surely know the secrets and language of men and women who sit outside the calm winds constantly discussing what is also in the air. I had enough of the whispers that are carried in the wind, for I had not known my mouth is shut to those who listen to what is in the air, regardless of the message one is carrying, it is not news to them. For a while I filter my cup and fuller it becomes to the brink just to feel fine and to rid off the horrible taste, I carry on. Ardent everytime in solitude yet lonesome with my own mind, actively nibbling on memories of fruits that were appetizingly flattering yet leaving ruins in my mouth. The memory alone acts as a stimuli, one that loosens my cuspids as blood slowly drips out of the corners of my gums filtering my teeth with red, filling my mouth with what pumps in my vains, a taste served by my own thoughts. It feels like the gushing pain of a woman’s painful gift. Oddly on a device the fruits appear unto me, till I end up holding these quivering hands to my bloody mouth for I am not hungry nor based anymore. Crumbling at the memory of the taste, my cuspids still come out loose to the thought and sight of bad fruit as i wonder if I will ever bite again but for now I tend to love the taste of blood.

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