I broke his shell.
Once he cracked,
There was no turning back
when he released his inner hell.
Earning my money,
I did not back down
from his hurtful adjectives and nouns.
At least now it's funny.

...

I sit in comfort
pondering this ending day
and hope that tomorrow will,
at least,
end the same way,
with my love at my side
saying everything will be okay -
And I coincide.

Flibbertigibbet speaks of the moon
and all that lies beneath.
"Jimminy-Cricket, why so soon?"
"My, what a wondrous wreath!"

"Beautiful picket!" Said to the man
She slept with just last week.
"Care for a biscuit?" Inviting him in,
Making gossip as she shrieks.

"Flibbertigibbet," Still in the bed,
"How did you like it now?"
Dressed as a misfit, "It was whatever."
Adultery tickled her brow.

Flibbertigibbet speaks of the moon
and all that lies beneath.
She speaks of the man cheating on his wife
To gossip, and without grief.

In the morning, children playing.
In the night, adults are wailing.
Another fight, doors slam loudly;
Their voices rip, screaming proudly.
Silence of the nights begin,
But when I wake,
My kingdom shakes -
The cacophonies start again.

Desperate, famishing beasts sniff my head
As I barely sleep.

The words they left me
Left me pensive.
The birds that pass me
Left me passive.
I simply don't know
How to react
Or if I should at all...

These belligerent diatribes,
Sneaking through our thoughts in ways
So we don't know it's there,
Speaking for us in films and plays
And caught us unaware
Of our own mind.

Isolophobia,
Isolated as my main -phobia,
Is heating up with an incendiary rush.

I gather all my plush
And talk about the lush
Who doesn't really live next door,
But I'd rather they not be bored
With my lack of dialogue.

I distract myself;
I clean the kitchen, I fix the shelf
That's been crooked for weeks,
I notice that my life has peaked
And I gather all my plush again.

Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.
I speak of how I'm completely broke,
And it's when they ask me, "Why?"
Do I realize that I have no control
And it's my lack thereof
That is driving me insane.

I bury myself inside my head,
Forever being alone instead
Of losing the ones I love again.
Every story has an end,
And as I approach it, I choke.