Once church got out
all hell broke loose.
We found the ideals of love
that we conformed to
were really a noose.
Oxytocin and Orgasms
just aren't enough,
we needed something more;
something we could touch.

Pull off fingernails
to scrape together the last bits
of surviving substance
lodged there from a time
the words, "I love you,"
still had some substance.

Abuse isn't the same
without someone to blame.
It's a shame the only one I fight with
shares my name,
but it's easier than admitting
that I was wrong,
that I miss you every day that you're gone.

Apologies were never my strong suit
so I played spades,
and tried to bury you
in my poesies,
but staying dead isn't as easy
as it looks.

Choking on the maggots,
came to some benefit,
though,
when they stopped me from
articulating
how much it hurts
to amputate your own limbs,
just to keep from slitting your wrists.

I couldn't imagine your face,
if you ever saw me like this.
Sitting at the table,
with my scales and a kris.
I needed to see how much water
it would take to
weigh against the blood.
If you could seem me now,
to see what I've become.

Blindness is a curse;
baggage of the ignorant,
and I'm not sure which is worse:
The fact you never loved me,
or that you're so perverse.

I struggle with my inner truths
to try to call a truce.
God didn't know when church got out,
all hell would just break loose.

01/27/2014

Posted on 01/27/2014
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