Tar

if I knew that the fog in my mind could harden into tar
like cigarette smoke that I daren't breathe out
would I have let the burn in my chest make itself at home?
until my lungs were heavy with something that I can't cough up
and my arteries became clogged with something stickier than blood
stealing the colour from my skin and blocking my nerve ends
so that I feel even less than I did before

once it made me feel better to speak
and let the tension flow out through my lips like rising smoke
passing through the cracks in the roof and dissipating in the clouds
but the ceiling has gotten lower
and now tar is beginning to gather in the cracks
staining the corners of my small box black
and dripping back down on me like rain

if I tried to speak of it now, would I choke on the bitter taste?
and spit out something disgusting, repulsive and black
a cement that sticks to my shoe and hisses up at me
for *daring* to try and rid of it that easily
who would reprimand me by gripping my throat
to remind me who is in control of my voice
and the words that I have to say

I don't know what remedy to take
to flush out a blockage that leaves me feeling hollow
or decongest lungs that are difficult to breathe through
even though there's nothing inside but air
nor do I know of a medicine that can replenish instead of numbing
because I can't accept an anaesthetic to relieve me
when there's already nothing there