I'm circling the spongy surface of my memory, Trying to underline the part Where your touch became too rough But I wanted you to pull my hair anyway. Where you stopped wanting to touch me But wanted me to continue touching you. Where I am left standing alone, knee deep In my fiery ***** As Plath would say. A sad and broken piece of machinery A rusty, wet tractor left in the wilderness Asking the vines for some sort of final mercy. I want to underline it, So I know it was real all along.
He said, "I had a girlfriend Who couldn't *** SHE was SO ****** up."
I whispered, "that makes me feel really good." I couldn't look at him.
I don't know if he got the sarcasm. I don't know if I will get the, No that, Monster out of my mind. Vines, please give me some sort of Final mercy.
This became far too long for me expect any one to read it.