Throats don't make for good coin purses
When I was young I used to play with pennies in my mouth I loved the feeling and taste of the metal. The clacking sound it made when it'd hit my teeth Once I lay down with a penny in my mouth. It fell down my throat and I began to choke. My mother flipped me on my back and whacked my spine. She wasn't going to stop till I was breathing again. She wouldn't let me die; she couldn't. So now when I hold pennies in my hands for too long I feel my throat closing up and smell the scent of near death. I let them drop to the floor. Just like how when I hear your name I feel all that you did to me all over again. I don't just hear your name, I hear all your pretty words like a broken record. Like an infant learning a new word and repeating it just to see the look of joy on its parents faces. No context; just reaction. When I speak to you I remember how my friend told me that you weren't good to me, slapping sense to my mind. I remember thinking it'd all be fine, you only meant those things some of the time Like how sometimes you're easy going and nothing's wrong with you and I Then you and I is just me escalating things that you never really said; or maybe you never really meant I mean-I meant, I didn't think you'd think anything of what we ever did, or the glassy words I spoke, you said. No, I see, You never meant to hurt me, It's just that I never meant anything. Who would mean to hurt someone if they don't mean anything. Now when I think back to you I rather have pennies in my hands than you in my head When I have to speak of you I wish pennies were in my mouth rather than your name
