pretty-eyed girl,
your underbelly's pink,
green, deep time,

don't know what you see in me,
I overcook things,
burn my mouth, trying to speak,

as
we daggle our already wet feet
over the pits of dog-bitten territory,

you always scratch first,

  but I dig deepest,

                 I guess, secretly,
                       I'm ready to see you go,

             far away, where the screams can't bind you,
                            and all the guilt quietly fades away,
                                 where you're comfortable, forever,
                             and your days remain the same, always
                                     where words don't come out
                                                      all ******,
                                              and your pretty thoughts
                                                    untangle at the feet,

                              where love can loop endlessly,
                                 and the old me is waiting