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Becky Littmann Jun 2014
You said you love me
       But do you?
You said we'll be together forever
       But are we?
You said I was your world
        But am I?
You said you want me to have your babies
       But did you really?
You said things will be OK
        But they weren't
You said we will be fine
       But were we?
You said we'd last
       But did we?
You said it's time for a break
        But was it?
You said we'll always be friends
        But are we?
You said.......

What I said was I love you
       & meant it
What I said was you're my life
       & meant it
What I said it'll always be us
          Well....I was wrong...
What I said was the truth
       &  meant it

You told lies....
   & I believed them
You were a verbal abuser
    & I just took it
I was fooled
     & stayed too long
I was slowly fading away
     & didn't even know it
Friends told me to just leave
      & just let go
Friends told me he's not worth your time...
    & I finally listened
I couldn't fix you
     & I walked away....
Martin Narrod May 2014
The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

— The End —