quick, close the door.
dont let those words escape their confines of four walls.
i touch my face tremblingly, disbelieving of the truth
that lies to me in its utterance
it is not true.

you cannot mean what you just said.
for is it possible for three words to invert my retinas
so that all is an inverted, reversed reality
that threatens to tear away from my eyes at the faintest whisper? no,
you are lying. you are, you are, you must be.
it is impossible.

there are growths within my throat that prevent me from speaking.
they are shifting, changing, growing
and now they mutate to take a shape. a head,
fingers, baby toes, gurgling. it is arising slowly,
to be spat with full vigour, the work of a second for you,
a lifetime of salty memories for me.

breaking up is a four letter word.