mister, my wrist must be broken.
i like this game.

perhaps i could be a corpse,
that seems like a good charade.
please, give me CPR, i might
come back to life and
rise from the crypt you've locked me in.

hold the shovel.
smile menacingly while
i gasp for breath.
(it really is ongoing
when you're buried alive.)

and i wait and want,
want you to ask me to dance.
you don't. i'm not surprised.
and even though you're taking her home
(after all, i could never be good enough)
i wonder why this hurts.

i throw myself into the walls,
they buffer the blow, but it pains just as much
and i wonder what the padding's for
i'll tear myself from
the infliction (of you) eventually.

10/04/2003

Author's Note: topic challenge by the illustrious Krista Brock! much love!

Posted on 10/05/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe