dusttodust
She could wrap men around her finger like yarn
String them along like puppets in a show
Read their hearts like an open book
But for what?
She was a pretty crier. Sobbing quietly, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes; her tiny frame, more glass-like with each heave. She was the kind of girl whose weeping form could launch a thousand ships, raze empires, and enchant anyone into tracing with hungry eyes the glistening tear streaks draping her face like garlands.
I used to call you monster
for all your gaslighting, your yelling, your abuse, and your sick, twisted love
so I guess it's only fitting that everyone calls me one now too.
your form flitted through my curtains like smoke
in the mi(d)st of the morning sun, or perhaps in spite of it,
how could I bottle the vapour of your being into something so defined as my embrace
you faded like fog, and left my side a murk
You wear your pride like armor -
Rigid, immobile, stubborn
Fierce to look at, terrifying to fight against.
But you were never meant to carry such weight;
To have your sweat pooling like tears at the base of your baggage.
Lay down your defenses, soldier - you need not fight any longer.
Objects object objectively to objections of objective objects
better as an discarded object instead of experimental subject
She was danger - with garlands, he supposed.
Like a whirlpool in the deep pulling you in
when your oars drop to with a thunk by your feet.
Or watching a car crash happen in slow motion -
terrible, irresistible, and certainly the wrong decision
With morbid curiosity he gingerly took her hand and left for parts unknown
he crouches over his worktable;
the question mark of his form posing a single question
sculpting his love into the puppet before him -
can non-life replace a lost life?
mom goes to the grocery store
turns a corner to see bananas on sale
potassium is good for you, she thinks
maybe it'll cure the illness in your head
so she buys a bunch
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