Backstabber

The tongues continue to clack as you leave another foggy room.

You gave me two bruised knees, you gave me the pale birch broom.

Now you run around the city wondering who spilled your secrets,

And the name on their lips is mine, so you stay stressed and sleepless.

Their teeth glow in neon blues whenever you dare to feel happy.

I hear the streets have finally learned what it takes to trap me.

They are coming for your blood again, and this time they will succeed.

The tongues will grow dead silent as your back will begin to bleed.

-Jackie