Iridescent sparks
and brass knuckles.
penny-pinchers
with broken teeth.
Are you still breaking hearts and eyes
with your gauntlet-laden hand,
You of the endless mystery.
You are one too many and always so much and
I can’t get enough.
Rearranging sentences,
knowing you will probably
get what I mean.
Not being afraid to talk about all the things
that keep me up and afraid.
You know I’m sorry,
and only mean the best.
I should listen more,
and think less.
I can’t stand rhyming like this and
I don’t get why people do.
All the words work out,
but my real meaning is lost-
just not true
I sunk into you
and found my own
rotten core.
That warm place,
I thought was
safe,
turned into a
sort of hell.
9 layers
too deep,
find my place
in just 3.
Count my selves again
see which face I need be.
Which voice do I respond with?