I am in love with you sometimes
like when I am riding the bus
beneath luminous buildings stapled deep
into the polluted black of the sky
that sadistic monoliths so horribly scrape.

Then there are times when I want you dead.
I scream loud into my pillow
then press my ear to the cotton
but after my punches it is too scared to reply
so all I hear are the echoes of my scream.

You ought to be ashamed for what you've done.
I am a strong, resilient, independent young person
and you blank face, you liar,
you slaughterhouse chief...
You ought to be ashamed.

Does your heart beat like a racehorse
when the Jockeys come off?
Are you aroused when a man in a suit,
a business-man suit,
tosses the homeless a quarter?

Do you hope that it lands by their tattered, torn shoe heads up?
Do you think they just need a little luck?

If you do,
then I have a secret to tell you:

*You are the most flawless person I have ever seen,
and holding hands on the city bus scares the living **** out of me.