If toys could speak,
I think they'd cry,
when left in the  basement,
to wither and die.

No longer needed,
not exciting,
not new,

that's why I feel like a toy,
whenever I think of you.

I once wrote that I liked your posessions left at my house,
because it reassured me that you're coming back.

It's only now that i realize,

with your clothes still at my house,
but also the knowledge that you are not coming back,

That though i can hold onto you materially,
it means nothing more than that
alone.

You are slowly eating my kindness,
putting a gun in the hand of my mind.

wielding the weapon of woo,
I dance ignorance

I bat my eyelashes,
say "no"

I am crumbling beneath "you look so pretty"

I am building up an altar made of ash

I am flirting in a way you hadn't thought of

I am fooling you,
I am fooling all of you.

I sit behind my green velvet curtain,
microphone to my beating lips,

I laugh

Eyes glued to an LCD screen

"Oh my god!"
You say,

"What a tragedy!"

*******,

Because the only tragedy here,
Is those clumsy, arrogant words
Toppling,
Like vomited dollar coins,
Out of your face.

Your knees must be bruised,
Black and blue,

For your falling on them in front of your god,
Loud and holy.

I respect your insistence,
Your wanting to save us.

But there's nobody here to save,
You're standing in an empty room.

Scoffing at the idea of being coveted,
Something to digest,
as if i could
heal
you.

Yet I write,
"Medicine"
across my chest.

am I to expect
anything
less?