Swallowing Bricks

Sometimes every syllable
is like swallowing a brick
and I can't speak because I'm too busy rolling my tongue in gravel
chewing the mud I want to sling
but holding it back
only for it to pressurize into a solid rock that leaves my stunned lips
Like spitting bullets into the wind and being surprised when
nothing flies back.

You say you want to feel something real,
So I bleed my heart out,
and you say “No, I said REAL.”
and everything smells like tears,
or whatever tears are
supposed to smell like,
because in my mind they smell like you in the morning
like your smile in the bend of my neck
like the bricks we've etched our fingerprints into.

They smell real.