tryst

Here's some crapola that wrote last night. Might give you an idea what's been on my mind, as if you don't already know. I sat at my computer forever tonight, just staring at the screen...wishing the inspiration would come to me...trying to reflect on what I had been DOING for the past few days. Whole lotta nothing. So I went back a little furthur, and then...the crapola came to me. Anger, hatred, the feeling of being betrayed, used, cheated... and then lust, fear of being known, fear of caring, embracing my inner slut.
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If you believe her to be the hardest hitter yet,
wait until your face pollutes my peripheral.
Too injured at your departure to
unweave my hands from my hair,
to see your blatant blemish through a
glaze of grief.
Resentment without reason
is the most heinous brand of treason,
and friend, my most imprudent misnomer yet.
Youll forever roam these streets
with a brainwashed blonde to feed upon.
Breath of a parasite
Blood of a cooling corpse
I knew when you cheated
I knew when you lied.
Nothing could repulse you like you,
and when you lost, failed,
wronged every right around you
it facilitated your grand delusions of fame
to shift or twist or bury the blame,
or sign for it with my name.
Id every intention to bring the life to
your listless crowd,
To lift the weight that love allowed,
but having found you to be
a simpleton
a spore
a less than shiny version of a fraud
Ive stomped out every ember of affection,
and spit on every spark of support.
I find you to be a deplorable person,
skin too tough even for eating,
bruises blind to their beating.
A case you carry with pride,
the ingredients of which you steal
from corrupt souls on the outside.
I dont doubt youve tried to reach inside,
but dry bones and an icy heart
do not a winning recipe make.
Youre a fucking fake.
There once was a time when it pained me
to see you cry.
Id now be content to watch you die,
though simply hearing about it would
be easier on my eyes.
Call this what you will.
A rant, misdirected wrath, a rave.
Its clearly just a
righteous beckoning for your grave.
And lets be frank, who really would visit?
Who?
Those youve fucked, or those youve fucked over?
Doubtlessly the dirt will be your best lay yet.
You did nothing but demean my desire to dream.
My nature illed you
There was never enough of the mean
and far too much meaning.
And what a thrill you got to watch me bleeding,
as you stood, Queen, glitter gleaming.
I want you to know,
Ill never have to dress up to know
I was made for more.
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Hes just a lay, not my prey,
and yet I pray he wont go away.
No cares upstairs,
and I wear nothing.
You like that, dont you?
We almost fell off the bed,
but well never fall off the
edge of the earth.
These movements define my worth.
These noises defy my hurt.
I am a slut.
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