Poisonous resentment,
Dripping down my esophagus.
Like the salvia you coaxed down my throat,
Icy cold and bitter.

Purple chrysanthemums blooming,
On my pale, once innocent flesh.
Eyes fogged by deception,
I am unable to escape you.

The seed of regret plants itself in my heart,
Roots of the weeds rip through me,
Polluting the heart, tainting the blood.
Paralysed, you force me down and tear me apart.

Fog clears my vision
just like drug laced honey you fed me
I see your true form in the window of my future
Pathetic old man, I’m not afraid of you.

Your claws saturated with manipulation
Grasp and tear at my flesh
But you can’t trap me here any more
I’m not your hostage

I can't find the
words to smash in your
face like a brick,
or tie around your
neck like a noose.
I want to scream how
much I hate you until your
ears ring,
***** my hands with your
sweet nothings,
nothing but lies as
you took another
beneath you.
Was I ever
enough?
Even if I'd given you the
last simplicity of my
being, would it ever
have been
enough?
I wish my words could
slap you hard like
yours did:
"****** up",
"ignorant",
"I could've done better".
But my tongue
bleeds with how long I've
been holding them in,
sharp like
razor blades on the insides
of my cheeks,
wishing so to carve out
yours like you did a
fifteen year old girl's
innocense.
Sweet child, if only I
could hold her to
my chest, and
reassure her that she was
never the impure one.

tickling tape worms living in ape arms
squiggly shapes getting fat like grapes and
traveling in veins like a gutter swallows rain
like an utter in pain painting pitchers so milky white
tight like an overstuffed mite
bee or  egg infested
ceiling unappealing
but
crack is revealing my
inner thoughts
statutory holocaust
saturated oil spots
aggravated foil plots
plotting for a battle

Hi, I'm calling to tell you that:
I wrote down everything you ever said to me (in the literal sense, standing stretched against my own uncultured and violently ****** vocabulary)
- And am regurgitating it back to innocent passerby - my sincerest apologies to those poor victims of circumstance, suspended in the projectile ***** of my dysfunctional disdain

(In a slew of worm guts and warm bodies, mama-bird to baby-bird saying "please don't leave the nest" - it's too hot for blankets anyways)

My original letter to you was written on the backside of an airplane **** bag, where I detailed my favorite scenes from a movie we subconsciously made entitled "Baby's First Time", while blissfully unaware of my stern faced in-flight companion.

My first draft, though, was a series of half-hearted winks and very, very drunk texts, beginning with:
          SEXT: I offer my services as sacrificial ******
(and followed a whopping six months later by)
          SEXT: I am still young enough to accuse you of statutory ****
(The art of seduction seems to be less of an art and more of a particular science)

You are:
- My own personal Edgar Allan Poe, just blonder and younger, with a bigger gut and a bigger ego and (alas!) a complete lack of interest in your sweet Annabel (but I could change my name)
- And oddly enough, I'm the one writing the poems here

(The whole world's a stage, with me just watching your sad indie boy band from the nosebleed seats)

It began with National
     Geographic
and those pictures
     of nearly naked
African women
as I lay on the floor
     of the hall
and from there
     it became
being ****** by a dog
     in the bathroom
to twenty second ***
     with a girl
who said I was impotent
     to becoming
aware that my *****
     was too small
to a statutory case
     where I didn't
     get caught
to a time in bed
     with a girl
who said
     "How much longer
     is this going to go"
to a grandmother
     who put me to work
and the love-making
     was just like that
     some of the time
to a one-night stand
     with an overweight girl
which was the best time
to me thinking
     "I haven't done too well
     with the ladies,
     maybe I should try
     the men"
and then doing so
     and deciding I didn't
     like it
to a few unforgettable
     moments which were
     forgettable
to an illicit affair
     with a married woman
     in motel rooms
to a woman who picked me up
     and said, "Let's be friends"
     and as she was going
     up the stairs
     she said, "OK, let's get
     this over with"
     and I ran outside
     to get out of there
then to twenty-one years
     of celibacy
when I realized
     that my best ***
     was with myself
and so I married him.

     THE END