MY ERASER IS MORE WORN DOWN THAN MY PENCIL. - FIONA ZHANG '28

The words they struggle to be freed from my mouth but they do not leave my mind the words pry my teeth apart and die in my throat but the bitter aftertaste stains the words I cannot banish they rot in my flesh the words are beautiful and cruel but the words I beg for do not escape the words I desire are made of envy or greed of desire but they fester in my stomach the words I spit out are frail like the currents of a river compared to the waves of the ocean the words they do not leave but I collect them like pennies in my pockets the words the metallic scent consuming my body the words they clung to my skin when I showered and I never felt dirtier the words unable to hang on to the commas the words I look for in the dictionary but there are none the words I will write until I cannot