And this morning,
woke up from such
hard and crusty dreams
that immediately got sick.
Twas a moment,
once spoken out loud,
you couldn’t take back,
bloodied battleground turned
to fields of beautiful
botanicals.
You never could
love me
without conditions,
(honey, they never can)
and frankly,
that’s no fucking problem
of mine.
I was even
ever so gentle
with you,
wherein only the softest
of touches
would do,
but after my flavor
etched your skin,
I became grieved
again,
like a virus that courses
often and always, and
cried all day and all night
and all
dayandall
night,
drove mad out of the
state,
in the rain that I fucking loved,
just by the way,
and then cried in hospital rooms,
which I hated,
in a way, and that
hiding tears was
my new specialty,
though tis more a bad habit,
to hide
youre dying,
inside and out
due to bad weather patterns,
and what not….
Even the dying
deserve to be blessed
by their angels,
and even though
the world tells me
Im ugly,
gonna find a way,
to look above you
and behind
your pathetic excuses,
walk into
the tear-stained
moon, unafraid of death.
as you drop the match
onto her
dripping body,
gasoline soaked,
she must be dreaming
of heaven.
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