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Jawbreaker |
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Dear You |
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Sluttering (May 4th) |
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Flattered that you think I warrant ugliness. Gutters |
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drain west, mud made a mess of us. It's time to leave |
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this place. I'd saw through your wrist to find a |
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better trap that fits. I'd saw through your traps to |
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find a better you, a part of you that lasts. I saw |
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through your trap and into my own wrists. Saw we were |
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through, red ribbons spill to blue: a sight to sore |
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your eyes. I got this dress. I'm hiking it around |
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this waste of laughter. Slow dance alone with no one |
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to the sound of four hands clapping. Congratulations |
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to you both, I hope somewhere you're happy. If |
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there's a moral to this story then I wish you'd show |
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me. Hair in the blood, fly in the disappointment. |
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Rubber, I'm glue. I'll write the book on you. It's |
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sticking to my face. You need a little less than what |
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you take for granted. This is the sip that's drinking |
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back from you, blacking out your eyes. You need a |
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little more suppression of your appetites. This is |
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your honeymoon, in separate rooms, it's neither sweet |
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nor bright. I made a word to give this state a name, |
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this game a guess. I call it "sluttering". It means |
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as little as your little test. You are your worst |
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revenge. Your very means, they have no ends. This is |
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a story you won't tell the kids we'll never have. If |
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you hear this song a hundred times it still won't be |
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enough. |
