Debt.

The blue ribbon around your neck
leaves me nothing but anything
to anticipate.
Somehow everyone knows
all my area codes.
And somehow you've
never bothered to call.
Yesterday was blue and
today I'm black, black as dirt.
The kind of dirt you kick with your shoe
When you're angry enough to kill.
The kind of dirt you draw pictures in
When you have nothing better to do
With your hands and your free mind.
An open book, I am the spit from your tongue
when you lick your fingers
to peel the pages back.
She is the story you read sparingly
In gas chambers of sorts.
My wooden heart is starting to rot
with age and disgust.
I'm the girl who never sleeps
and loses her balance
beginning to fall into wells
deep enough to shatter
the song that is always on repeat
and the barrier that protects your fancy palpitating
heart from cold dead air
on late night talk shows
hosted by ghosts you've slept with
in turn for money
and memories
this is a story for the books
a book that'll never be published
a book, only you could manage to read over and over again
out loud
until my wooden heart starts to bleed
and she sings again to the stars
that are as blue as the ribbon
around you neck.
The same ribbon
I'll use to create remorse in your lifeless
sack of s**t body.

Reviews

[eddie]

amazing. its flows. you are a natural

[♥ Courtney &hear..]

wow i loved the intensity and the flow of it. you told a great story here.. keep writing i love the way that you write.

[thecoolone52]

woahhhhhh it got more intense as the poem went on.... the last lineeeeee was craaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzy angryyyy.... anyway i really enjoyed this poem tubular write!!