I enjoy the taste of
tragedy rusting my
thoughts and coating my
tongue with pure irony.

I am attracted
to it much as the
honey bee is attracted to
its only sting, desperate
for the thrill of hurting
another before, beautifully,
it's ripped into two
broken fragments that will
blow away with the wind,
nothing more than empty
shells of waste.

Come
whisper sweet words of
disaster into my left ear, so
that they can be nursed by my
mind, be regarded for the
poison that hides within,
and be embraced and enjoyed,
with all sense of self
thrown out the righteous ear
to make more room for the
new thoughts eating away at my soul.

08/17/2009

Author's Note: This is a work in progress, but I like how it's developing so far.

Posted on 08/17/2009
Copyright © 2025 Lyss Copeland