Am I so bad
that all I see in this compliment
is sarcasm
and all in you is bitter.
Bitter is only a way,
never a taste
so why say bitter.
That taste is sour
and sourness is when things go off.
When you're off with me
I know it's because of the bitterness.
Our bitter is strong.
Toxic.
The result of fermented anger.
Locked in some small space
cooling in a steel casket.
Fermenting.
To be consumed in moderation.
I dream of drowning in our
corrosive distillment,
setting a flood upon you.
But no.
It's still ours and so
I couldn't bear to waste your half.
I'll drink deep mine own.
Keep it inside.
Not near you.
Let this fortified feeling burn through me.
Scorch  my mind.
And I will live.
Unrecognizable.
But always the same.