This, is another rancid poem about the heart shaped box I hold you inside…the place where I put my wishes that always seem to turn into woes; the place where all that holds us together spoils- splitting instants, when we blink between breaths so fast and everything goes bad before it ever stands a chance at being enjoyed. Yes, another rancid poem.
This is a rancid, rotten poem where the middle of my insides send radiating stabs of surprise that shout smiles of “Reasons why I love you,” from the belly of my beastly want. Excuses fly at my face with fury, like the phantom fists of emptiness from apology never acknowledged; stinging painful with ghostly contact. They leave chips upon both of my shoulders deep-set and undeniable; spread out as elaborate calligraphy designs: life-long lasting stories etched out in scars that tell only of “Reasons why I hate myself.”