I leave the crowded house,
Look up the desert trains but I stay,
Because it will follow,
The spindrift of this cold play.
Must we fall between the concrete lines,
No peaceful space between night and white?
He raped me and it didn't feel like a kiss.
She hit me and left and I made her a pressed flower bookmark.
I tried to cannibalise myself,
Because it was better than perpetual self-hating indulgence
And all rain clouds are opacus,
They're not an option, unless there's a rainbow silver lining
To share on Facebook.
Open heart surgery must be in a darkened theatre,
Yet they fashionably celebrate the Day of the Dead.
Don't describe the restorative slicing open
Just a selfie of the happy and hair-washed, lip-glossed post-op.
No love, no glory.
Turn the other cheek, read bikini news
Cause she's safe. She's an easy whigmaleerie.
You won't need to read your narrative backwards.
But if not us, then who?
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