Poetry fails me. And I it.
Love has torn me. The final bit.
No longer human, no longer sane.
You dug the grave; a hellish pit.
You named it love. You drank the dirt.
Called me a lady; groped for my skirt.
But a fantasy’s a fantasy and we die.
I am ugly but so is your shirt.
Dry a dream. Fry a heart.
A mind atrophic; a lonely start.
Live in a corner and die a hero.
Save yourself; you’re so smart.
Poetry fails me.
And I it.
Open your eyes.
It’s not rain, it’s spit.