in every sense, has become
poetic deception. You
and I are standing on opposite continents now.
I sit back and
watch as you perform
on command, the
drop of a hat;
you reinstitute your lies, with
a calm, sanguine
countenance. Who are you trying to convince,
But wait, we've been here before. This
place where I cut for your attention, where all
I wanted was your
love in return for mine. It
is a place that we
will only venture to in our
minds from here on out, because it is
dead, as we are dead.
I find my heart is still beating.
I am still
receiving a flood of emotions. And
though, I miss you at times, I
do not regret that we are dead. The fault
belongs to no one- but
maybe you. For you
were the traitor, who in
the first month found unconditional love.
You who tore me from my
Pedestal and replaced me with him… (as is your right).
if I had a penis to
stick in your vagina, would you
love me again?
I only want to be free, and that
be so long as you bury me with
your eyes- their accusations
of the guilt and sadness I should feel but don't. so long as you
and perform for all to see and all
to know that it
is about me. You
declared this war
in self defense don't think this
die without a fight. Wrong or right all
I've done is return the
favor (the poem I wrote about
you would not even exist if you
had not read your interpretation
reflection to our fifth
hour class). Retaliation was