Sometimes the words creep out
like a five-year old asking for water
being told to go back to bed for the third time
cranky and demanding.
Sometimes the words rush out like
stale air from a popped balloon,
random and rude,
surprised by their own loud noise.
Sometimes the words stay inside my head,
ricocheting around the pool table in there,
bouncing off walls, hitting one other hard,
until that eight-ball drops into the pocket.