Ms. Hansen sits alone
her dusty pink dress starting to wrinkle
She hungers for someone
anyone
to open her up and love her
or use her
He would extend one claw
Rough and scarred
chewed nails
She’d take it
perfectly manicured
his tongue would taste of spiteful intent
and smoke
The air stinks jovial
Alcohol scalds tongues
She kills brain cells
Only an observer
watching others picked
skirts twirling
dancing
an eternal wall flower
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
A woman who leaves her children isn’t a mother but a donor,
egg loaner.
She walked away from us, no longer mother,
or friend.
or other.
She never wanted us. Not me, not my brother.
And,
to be honest,
if I saw her today walking next to a stranger.
I wouldn’t tell one from the other.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
“You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.” – Tyler Durden, Fight Club
You have a kind of sick
desperation in your laugh.
You always think of others.
They never do,
on your behalf.
He’s there you’re him.
You’re here he’s you.
He says he’s Tyler.
And you are?
Who?
Clinging to the manic sense
you get when you’re a l o n e .
String up the failing,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
words,
you feel you must atone.
Who are you really?
Slipping
f l a i l i n g
unmissed and left to burn.
Black and darkened
Your heart unharkened
The page is left,
unturned.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC