The wistfulness of the wind calls me and I’m at it’s beck and call.
I can’t fathom a better reason to run with the air, rip myself away from these seams.
I can’t stand the thought of humanity breathing down my neck, the thought of adolescence racing to protect all the innocence that has been swept and hidden under the rug, Promiscuous the
I just cannot take it anymore, being lied to, then promised, proposed to a better life, a way of breathing.
It’s all bullshit, and I’m not longer feeding. I just wish someone would understand me, realize what I’m going through isn’t fake, this isn’t a mistake.
I was raped of my dignity, I might as well of been a female bleeding on the streets of normal.
Nothing seems to be civilized. Everything is this constant violent crime no one seems to report. It’s a mute tragic happening.
I just want to escape these entities that hold me back from being happy.
My mother claims to care, but you find her cooking away in the kitchen trying to find substitution for substantial advice.
She operates like clock work, and I can only begin to understand the mechanism that keeps her tick tick ticking.
I love someone so passionately that the thoughts he comprehended from me seemed more like means of manipulation.
He didn’t grasp the coherency of my spelled out bluntly passion, that he squandered and fashioned into this ugly piece of shit.
I hope someday his lip pierced and bleeding, comes to the realization that nothing he ever fathoms will come nearly as close to the quite precision of me loving him to the extreme.
I hope that someday maybe, he’ll wake up and find the naked flesh around him to be the repulsion that exerts him to the closest ways to find me.
Knocks on my door almost inaudibly, and finds for it to be that I’m not home, that I’m with someone that constantly satisfies me, and that he cannot remotely come close to the proximity that this lover has gotten to me.
I hope everyone liberally sees, that I no longer need the existing flesh that is he.
That I’m high on my own thoughts and philosophy and that if he comes near me I will chop off the remaining flesh that hangs from thee.
Fuck you and fuck she.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.