This granite counter
And tear you to shreds,
But all I can do is smile.
I should shout something
Like “Hey, I still have that butcher’s knife.
You must have forgotten it in my spine.”
But I cannot spit a syllable.
I should have never trusted you,
In my home alone with the
Person I named My Everything,
But I should have known better.
I should not have assumed
That your lazy eye was
My abettor from infidelity.
But I wonder which eye he lied into.
I should have left right then,
When I emerged from my daze,
Put my ear to my gut.
But it growled for gratification he couldn’t provide.
I should hate you,
And wish you a thousand paper cuts
On the tips of your thieving fingers,
But I can’t stop laughing.