The void drags its raw fleshy membrane

into an elongated rod or like the inside of a trumpet.

Recoiling with impropriety and no end in sight,

it curves.

The hallow swells with a thick smog

distributing itself through the stomach,

acid pearling at the inline of that belly 

truncated with so much bravado it’s sits plump against the diaphragm. 

The melancholy with no room to expand 

leaking its desperation,

pulls itself around the tongue 

puffs perfect cylinders of burning vapor

out the mouth.

The despondence glares out into the world 

searching for a captive audience.

Playing with words like it’s turning tricks,

it straightens.

Over corrected by a deep desire for connection;

it falters

and under the torment of yearning –

it snaps.