porcelain, like a Doll ghosting in her shell
I built a prison, after the smoke escaped,
around your cannabis tongue
detaining your passion to an impassion
amidst wires barbed and fences
consumed by rhythms, electric …
I am muerto with no poems to give you
instead I`m dodging bullets in my closet
the residue of powders burnt
silence the rage trudging through my pulses
impulse`d by the treachery
that remains stained in places I`ve wept …
war of hate is being fought by a terrorism
you`ve inflicted upon me … you`ve taken
my love, my loyalist to you, hostage
How can I ever repay you?
a glass of communal chablis has lost its savor,
my nipples know of no value only that
of a strawberry dipped in the synthetic river styx,
that my heart had been ripped systematically from me ~
too much haze to blaze upon this theological glory
but there`s a story there, you know, of us
of orchestrated lovers maneuvering in the dark
and catastrophic roaches oaring on the mayflower
and on the abril`s sea of seasons
where the sunflowers and blood adorn
like you`ve never mourned for me ~
but as these tearless tears gas upon a gussied face,
porcelain like a doll ghosting in her shell,
you opened my robe and slipped me a note :
`True, I started a joke that got your whole world crying’
I poured hot tea into your tiny cold cup
and spun it `round to the girl crouched over on knees
with floral needles bleeding her hands please
and then there`s a man who doesn`t understand
that I`m not your bonsai tree
I could say …
`Look what you`ve done to me`
but sadly it will only be a shame
`cause I no longer have love [for you] on my brain
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