when did refrigerator magnet words go so wrong? this is not last chance saving this is a parody of myself
what were once declarations of love have morphed into razor edged lines and sharp angles that catch along the back of my throat
i choke them out but they mutate into something much more than I have anticipated, these are not the smooth sing-song lyrics you fell in love with, these are death sentences and suicide letters and homicidal tendencies
this is crooked iron nails and bitterly spat broken teeth and torn pages from notebooks, this is not beautiful, it is teasing the very edge of the cliff with bare feet
a white flag rubbed in mud and creased with dried blood is not surrender, whether raised or crushed under the heels of tearing boots you’ve come to love.
you don’t hate poetry, you say you do. you flinch when it touches you, scalding on your skin, leaving blisters up your sides.
you don’t hate poetry, you get so much pleasure from picking at the wounds it inflicts.
is this a desperate hunger, a strictly guarded act of autocannibalism,
preying on late night words (“i honestly hate her and i want to forget” oh, drink your sorrows away honey, you have a hell of a storm coming for you)
no one can tell me the facts, not anymore, not through voicemails smelling of cigarette smoke or misspelled texts declaring undying love,
these words leave fragile skin with claw marks, innocent blush with burns
this is danger, this is terrorism (an act on whom? is it terrorism if one is after themself?)
honey, you know it’s the stress talking, the best medicine is to let it bleed until you’re numb
