I don’t want time to cool off after getting mad
I want you to prove that you’re sorry
Stop asking what you can do to make it better
Don’t just sit there and repeat back to me
Offer me suggestions and do them anyway
Beg my forgiveness down on your knees
Spend the next eight hours overthinking
Get angry and expressive, ******* unfreeze
Fight back, take up a weapon and strike
God knows I’ve given you a million to date
Or deliver an overblown romantic gesture
It could be literally anything I’d appreciate
Hey, can you listen? It’s not that hard
Do I have to scream to be heard?
I don’t think I’m making an impact
You still stand there undeterred

I don't like sharing.
Or letting you into my space.
I have a hard time with being kind.
Judgements come naturally.
Strangers can be punchlines.
Your feelings may bother me.
I want you to like me.
But I may not like you.
My first impression of you,
Sticks even when I'm wrong.
I don't like how I am.
I've said I would change.

I haven't.
But I wish I would.

I'll bite and snarl at your wheels
rumbling past me up that hill
I know you'll never stop
leaving me stranded
a mad dog.

whirlwinds dust ashes
it wanders and follows your every step
your hair turns into moss, your fingertips connect with your accomplice
someday you will have to saw them in two
I wonder if your laugh will be the same once its your fingers under the blade
you’re turning bald and your nose is merely a button
can you smell the stench you create every time you lower your lip?
do you see the trail of destruction?

your bed is a coffin
your heart is non-existent
it’s a shame your teeth don’t even match the vision
your eyes aren’t rubies and your gums aren’t ******
glory is fictious, horns are the dream
not even that is what it may seem
for your head is a block of dirt and your thoughts are deflated
perhaps the worms came and ate them
perhaps they feast on you the same way you feast on me

except you don’t
the feast is your imagination
your perception is pitiful
you are forever insubstantial

The deep-set abhorrence
Of standing alone—
Where is it from?
I stand on dead grass
Staring dead eyes in the face in the glass reflecting off my screen.
I look mean, dead angry eyes and my brows too dark—
I look mean;
mean and alone.
On dead grass in dumb boots
Waiting for too many factors
To change
Before telling myself
To move on.