Glass Window

I once let my genius whisper words into my mouth. Ive always felt reluctant but on that day, for reasons beyond my apish brain, I let it rain down my crimson esophagus like that ol’ drainpipe that sat next to my childhood window. A strange sensation it was indeed but the sound, boy -- it sounded precisely like evening rain falling through the thin walled, hollow aluminum tube that I was once so familiar with. I could hear it through the marrows of my bones, vibrating the pinkish dermis of my swollen cheeks. The acrid aftertaste darkened my teeth and cut through my soft gums. It wasn’t long until I realized that this substance, kept vanishing in my pit-less stomach. Silent remorse.

My eyes remained closed -- like that window.