Choking
I've been there. And I was possessed by my venom, and time. Now I'm full of a poison which it seems impossible to cure. Taken to a sagging rest, and my back curves truly. I don't choke on this toxic breath. Puking in the whimsy. And numerous gasp. I don't believe in me. So the sputum is dribbling my nose, burning a hole in a grave I've devoured. Oh the loam is thrown to finish this body off.