“…so that’s what happened?!”
Truth was never a consequence in your mind-
And my stomach boiled.
Except on Sundays-
Or talking to a friend.
Your painted face never buried your vice-
To those of us who knew too much.
Summer grew old-
And I discovered two halves
One divine,
The other dank,
Your disguise waned-
And my stomach boiled.
It was late-
The hour-
When your moments quit.
After I slit your throat-
That’s when I stopped caring.
When I strung you up by one foot and you were wearing your taupe flats-
They shone with gloss as you swung.
Back and forth
Back and forth
In front of me-
You leaked-
Dripping on my blue, unvaccumed carpet.
I pursed my lips and went for the remote-
And my stomach boiled.
On top of the record player were the cheerios-
Not in their box.
That annoyed me.
More than the slight
Swish
Swish
In the corner of my eye.
Now-Dismembered in red-faced rejections, you move in shifts.
Still - beneath dark soil,
Seething - beneath my skin.
So I run,
Tap, tapping on the pavement,
Until a whimper is,
And I – unaware, approach.
And there you grow-
A legume of indifference,
Without patience - Unless for you.
But now- my stomach lies quiet.
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