I used to like you a lot. i don’t know what ******* happened. we’re children and you pushed me off the swings, off the playground, out of the park. And now my best friend only wants me for what i can say about you, you sea urchin. bouquet of prickling spikes piercing my jagged rib bones. rip through me, feasting scoundrel, you *****, you fox. you viper.
wipe her from my soggy slate. dinner plate? it’s empty. everyone is the garbage disposal, grinding my teaspoons of self-worth into dusty pieces. i am the garbage.
and i never pegged you as one to leave me in a dark parking lot, shadows curling their bony fingers around my purple lungs, but she found you making love to him in the same car we sat. the bull frogs saw what you did.
i’m warning you to stop pretending like you’re still a fawn. a doe-like female. i can see through the speckles on your face and your mixed tapes.
i don’t have heart left for you, you ******. kneel in front of his knobby knees. beg, *****. muck him up and then lick him clean, feline. slink past me in the night, in the broad daylight. you are not a spy i can see your arteries.