my heart is your ashtray.
i'm your trashcan where
you toss your old garbage
and i attempt to dodge
your incoming problems:
the fact that i won't
let you fuck with me,
your whiny girlfriend who
doesn't like it when you
cheat, your parents always
kicking you out, no money
to pay for the crack.
my mind is your punching bag.
i take it all, i absorb your
abuse like a sponge. i let
you peel apart the layers
of my mind and find out what
makes me tick, what makes
me sick, what softens my heart.
i let you take me, i don't
care. i don't.
my body is a work of art
you bought to hang on your
wall. i serve to be watched,
to be touched, to be admired.
you analyze me, read me, until
the paint washes off and i'm
nothing but an empty canvas.
white. you might think i'm
left with nothing now but
you never went to physics class
and white is made of all colors.
YOU ARE READING
Rocket Fizz
PoetryA collection of decidedly bad poems written by yours truly Surprisingly not really about space
