Beneath the Flesh

A raw patch under the tongue,

a ragged hill where the wet skin tears—

it catches, rough and sudden,

a secret caught beneath soft folds.

I run my tongue over the bump,

a dull ache waking where no one sees.

The taste is metallic, bitter, alive,

like a hidden bruise that won’t quit.

Beneath the pink cave, a shadow pulses,

a small war fought in silence,

where skin folds back on itself,

and pain lives folded in quiet flesh.

I swallow, sharp and slow,

touching that raw edge again,

a hidden place I carry,

locked inside my mouth’s dark.