Kinda Morbid Poem

I don't feel like talking,
but I feel like I should.
My mouth is glued shut.
Sewn together with my last breath.
Yet it also feels heavy.
Gravity weighing down my jaw,
until it tumbles off onto the floor.
Teeth scattered askew.
Blood gently drips from the hole it left.
A large, black hole, split at the throat.
The flow of blood slowly growing faster,
dripping down my tongue on to my shirt.
Dark, red, and fleshy.
My tongue lies, hanging, mostly numb.
Down right repulsive.
A mess of blood.
Now I may learn to have thought,
yet not speak my mind.
To see all beauty,
Even in my former self.
To not speak cruelly to others,
just think them of myself.