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Irate Watcher
Poems
Jan 2015
Scars
He says he is home now.
That we should get snacks together.
But I already ate a salmon filet.
I am not hungry.
I ate too fast.
I have a gut.
There is nothing left.
So I turn my phone on mute.
Tempted, but astute
that I will ravish you
again, and,
feel more empty than
the wine bottle
next to this pen.
Part 1
Written by
Irate Watcher
30/F/Denver
(30/F/Denver)
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