it's funny,
how cycles of violence
against myself,
form a continuation
of my insanity.
the poems,
the words,
everything makes sense
when it's about you.
it's drives me
up the wall of deliverance,
waiting at the top
for you to notice.
to bring light against
my scars.
but how can you?
when i dare speak
of how i feel about you?
i have to watch what i say,
washing my mouth with soap,
as i turn into a bloody mush,
while the secrets of my disorder
want to be opened from its pandora's box.
train the dog,
cut the grass,
build a white picket fence.
is that what you dream of?
if that what you want?
for someone to play housewife,
or for you to be submissive one?
because i am flexible,
in the way that i can change
into the mold of what a perfect
partner looks for you.
- zmh
YOU ARE READING
drops of champagne
Poetrydrops of champagne stains my skin, as memories of your lips burn with each passing sip as i float down to hell with you. DISCLAIMER: if you see any grammar mistakes, i do apologize but also let me know so that i am able to fix them as soon as pos...
