The eggs have quite literally, never been in my basket.

I wish I could **** my sadness in through my eyelids.

Sinking into oblivion, where my nightmares don’t have deep voices and violent hands.

They call it phantom pain when they sever your limb, but how come I still feel your touch, I can’t get a grip. Your ghost makes me shiver. Cut off

You grow up

When did **** become irrelevant?

he said, “why you always playing”
as he slid his pawn down my chest piece
as he played shoots and ladders up my thigh
as every loaded die came to rest at my lower back
Snake eyes
as he royally flushed my self worth
as he cross the finished line with, “why don’t you ever let me score?”