your love is a tumor
that sets all anguish into motion.

how sad it is to know
that to be better off,
more stable, some how,
i must quit you.

control is a masked villain.
what does your face look like
in earnest?
must you tell me
everything?

i do not want to know
the tremble of your skin
when touched by someone else's hand?
it hurts to hear
you are not quenched by mine alone,

and will anyone
ever be content with me?

there is only panic now,
the whirling sorrow drenching shirt sleeves
with the windows down on late-night backroads,
and i have imagined running head-on into maple trees
to make the cloying ravage of this cancer
finally explode with blood and skin.

how you would be sorry, then.

08/22/2011

Posted on 08/22/2011
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer