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by Vikki Owens

You and me.
are in purgatory
and we are strung up
on our own lives
and our own needs
the edges of our lies
have cut the strings
of what used to be.

I liked to pretend
and pretend is all you ever did,
we pretended so well
that we became pantomime of
I dont believe the words that fall from
your mouth now,
your mouth is my monster
you've put holes in
the fabric of
my reality
you've put holes in my being.

You raise up your hands,
stigmata style,
you claim your own pain,
you claim absolution,
I dont believe you.
I cant see anything but
the burnt-out cinders of
everything that ever comforted me.


Posted on 03/08/2009
Copyright © 2022 Vikki Owens

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 03/09/09 at 12:49 AM

That's a hell of a showdown. Great write.

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