Pitfall

A pitfall where my stomach should be.
A Black Hole suckling on ribcages and arteries,
feeding itself.

E             E
c            c
h         h
o       o
e     e
s   s

Words like unused scratchcards, waiting.
Letters assembled in lines
Jumping off my tongue
Trapped in the context of spit and gums
and impressed on cheeks
No one will see, hear, or notice these words.
Not until I’ve filled this pitfall.