orifice

I think I told you once.

Then I told you twice.

Both times I was not so nice.

My tongue pressed against my teeth as words spewed from my orifice.

How could I expect you to respect me with fear in your eyes.

How would I expect you to ever need me with the aching I left inside your mind.

Such wicked things we can say in the fire.

Yet, when the embers die down, the smoke lifts from the ashes, we are standing still in the madness of our own destruction.

I'm sorry.