disconnected ,
my torso has been torn from my legs
and i lay in pieces, separated
miles apart ,,
wires, like silver veins,
stem from plants
and flowers,
like
little golden ropes .
a noose around a garden *** ,
and
a robot without its head
.
they always say that love is blind ,
but i think love
must be cruel —
for she dressed me in red and then
left me to die,
and you know..
a tea kettle who boils
also screams ...
heard about that suicidal artist who handcuffed himself to a tree and then died. That’s what love is like. Maybe I’m just reading too many depressing things lately.
