There is this taste I feel inside my skin
Dripping like honey between my muscles and my outer shell
Thick and oozing with a bitter tang
It rises like bile in my throat
It colours every moment
With a deep pus-like ochre
And I find I can’t see or taste or smell or know what the very air is like anymore
And I gulp
And gulp
For fresh breath
In and out
Slowly diluting
Slowly
Like dripping honey
This anxiety of mine
Poetry credit: Tori Mullin, 2023
