it’s just another whisper through the vines, a soft breeze that chills your spine
and you’ve completely stopped in time
as your hips sway in line
to the beat of the song playing in your little head
and you think oh, oh, as you’re rocking in your bed
and suddenly you’ve landed in a trench
no tricks, no flick flack
no ass
just cracked up
and blind
pure and delicious, no content is malicious as you’re sipping your tea in oblivion.
as you’re knocking back drinks without a cherry in
your glass, some sherry in your lap, chipper, unaware
giggling
bitch you’re still blind
but you’re loving it
and that’s that
no stopping you
looking back?
that’s the old you
bullet wounds ricochet
off your chest
and it shines through
your vest
it’s a risk that you’re willing to take, fuck it, eventually everything breaks
replace it, or just recreate
what you’ve lost in the mud
in the trench
underground, dried up blood
rotted flesh
forgotten, until the flood
horizon, horizon
we’re starting again, aren’t we?
you’re losing your marbles again
to whom is this letter addressed
as you’re screaming my name,
gyrating
pulsating
you find me invigorating
captivating
heartbreaking.
and I think it’s sad that you’re burrowed
in that furrow
that you promised you’d never make for yourself,
but now you’ve gone and neglected all else
except the imagery of misery
singing songs of beauty and class
that you had
swaying back and forth
like you’re overtaken by a force
that denies you of your worth
like you’ve never been birthed
and your pain becomes your pleasure
that’s the only measure
that you’ll ever remember
because you thought we’d be forever
but like buried treasure
just leave us six feet under
