swallow
there's a frog
in my throat
its neck swelling
against the bones
of my spine.
its croak
is like the scream
of a rifle
as it fires,
bullets trapped
in the netting
of bodies.
and i cannot complain
for i have no voice.
i am not captain
of my galley,
held prisoner
by the beast
in my gullet.
and i cannot explain,
for words
are my long lost lover.
i've become
afraid of swallowing
for fear
of what might live
in my gut,
some swamplike
abomination
that burns through
my stomach lining
like snow, rotting
bare fingers.
and i cannot cry for help,
too imprisoned by the present,
a silent shield
that keeps my mouth shut
in fear of what i may let out
into the light.
my trachea is lined with slime,
food has become gross.
breathing is
awkward,
with every
heave of my chest
it feels as though
the walls of my
esophagus
touch.
each question
is a test
to see if i'll dare
to swallow the frog
and speak out.
but i say nothing,
because my voice
is in pieces,
shattered
by the bloated body
of the frog
that lives
in my throat.