fizzlee

You’re spewing vulgarity,
And I wish I could take your words and throw them at him.

Cunt, you’re up in smoke.
Burn holes in the sweater I’ve forgotten the smell of
And taint it with grassy forgetfulness.
Hazy, hazy child,
It’s like he runs a mile before realising it’s in a mirror.
Turn around, my love, before it’s too late,
Thread a trail of apologies behind you
And cling to the hope I’ll trip.

Know I’ll trip. Know I’ll never toss words at you,
I’ll cut you, but I’ll never salt your wounds,
And you’ll never learn.
I’m listening to her speak,
And I wish I could turn on you.
Violate you with how I’m feeling.
Cloying, sweet messages of vapid emotion.

Without you, I’m seeing bones.
A skeleton wrought with potential.

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