You listen for a sound to sound profound. You're the headache I linger around. Now, I'm wound so taut. I'm full of loss and a lingering thought. I'm shoveling grass in my mouth with the taste of sod and weeds dry from a drought. On a wall, I lean. I feel green, acting mean, and looking so serene. I'm the milk spilled on your carpet. I'm seeping into your floor. As I rot I become unbearable, but you won't cry over me. I'm a swelling oozing canker sore. I'm the vein of your mouth's existence. As you dance and your feet leave the floor, don't feel safe if you're held by me I'm a fiend. I'm mean and serene.