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rougher than you can know

I’m quiet in the kisses I stop 
only a truckload of flowers 

will rouse me I know I’m mean 
trust that I’m the one stuck 

up all alone with myself 
my responses their scratched

backs because I want
to be backhanded (because 

I do) this isn’t confessional 
sure my own mouth is wet 

but deadly as an oven 
if ever I need  to die 

I can seal myself up 
snug inside a closet 

talk myself to death
Posted 06/03/16
not a cry for help - a metaphor - a salve
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