muscle molts in your mouth, not in your hand. i don’t know how to play cards anyway, except for spit and go-fish, and i know how to do one better than the other. some words that were meant as a diversion were played, and you can’t hide those dirty fingernails under the glare of a brilliant distraction of a diamond puked out of the skin of a ring finger, like it was there all the time, yeah, it was there all the time. like a fucking abscess those words swell in your mouth and i’ve perfected my poker-face even when my heart is breaking. my heart is breaking. my heart is breaking and i have no king only these spades that are trying to bury me. peel a layer of lie off your tongue that remembered a fragment of phrase that keeps a space like a pocket of air caught in your mouth. speak me again and i will make you choke. slit my throat with an ace and we’ll call it even.