bite of bitter tongues

there are bits of time
where the bite of tongues
that speak little else
but bitter brimstone
and tart acidity
feast on you silently

seething, seemingly on display
in vintage prisons of blown glass
you mouth words onto plates
as offerings
that wouldn't exit theirs
until their bellies & souls distended

there is a limit
to keeping quiet
when the bites of insecurity
riddle your spirit
there is a waterline to honest tears
there is a limit to saying sorry

and when you reach that point
may your glass cage shatter
and each splinter be a word
that cuts deep and leaves no scar
save for words you once said
painting their faces