I feel like a fast moving French film
tape recorded and placed gently on the veranda
where spilt milk is spilt and unattainable

you know you've got to take a bow and do things your way
all the while trying to find that deep sorrow
burrowed thick into the vines and veins which intertwine over my slow beating heart
I can't tap into it

I can't make those tear ducts salivate

I want to return home to motherland of nothingness
dock safely in calmer seas
all for the sake of my attached heart
so neatly pulled together- a giant prime rib beneath my chest
so run dry
sucking out my inner comfort zones
WORD DEMONS

I can practically see myself staring into the smoke screen
finding myself as radiantly diseased as I always imagined
trickery
tricked so venomously that my body sought out that venom
and inhaled it-
the antidote to his sinful sin
built up on sounds in my mouth

why?
I AM FORSAKEN.

I just wanted to rinse my mouth out with mountains of soap.
soapy soap

waiting for lady Macbeth
I want to boil and fry her
until the very last hairs on her selfish head crisp and fall away

my heart knows better than to break for him
with that, I am comforted by its determination
to keep me spinning back into a fast moving French film
tape recorded and placed gently…