your mouth is so eager to please
but your eyes seem to protest.
you spend so much time on your knees.
when was the last time you confessed?
all those years i slept on couches
i was just playing you.
you never found out about it.
tonight my body is soaked straight through.
i pulled my hood up over my head.
do you feel threatened yet?
i'm sickly and bored and tired and violent.
i was lying when i told you the rest is silence.
so let your eyes slide down your face
and eat the tattoos that you can't erase.
get off the bed. it's already stained.
don't complain. don't fucking complain.
3 comments:
egads. this is super badass and one of the best things you've written in a while but also horrendously depressing.
everyone who goes to college hates sundays, apparently.
sundays suck.
SUNDAY IS LIFE-OBLIGATIONS DAY. I shower, and do my laundry, and clean, and by groceries, and take out the trash and feel like an adult. I like Sundays.
But mostly: this poem is great.
Post a Comment