raising cup over voice

and there's a lot of names
that i could mention but
i've already burnt my tongue
once today.

and those burns last so much longer
than sipping over-zealous coffee steam.
no, these burns last lifetimes
on top of memories
on top of antiquity and regret.

but hey, at least with a burnt tongue,
i won't be able to taste it.

at least
not until winter
when the heat dissipates
under frost,
and that burns a little differently.

and each time i forget
and every year
i layer these burns like plywood,

searing old scars
deeper into my skin
with every fresh coating,

not that you'd care,
'cause clearly
i don't need to tell you
that

i'd rather caffeinate myself
into caring less
than bite the bullet
and try again.

it's as if attempting to drive
in flint flurries and buffalo blizzards.

the way the snow rises to the top
like the elite, how i sink below
as if you've raised your foot 
over my grounded body.

this silence pushes me under
and coats me like verglas,
and i can only see you through that.

but i never raise my voice.
for whatever reason,
i never raise my voice.