Monster in the Closet

Don’t bat a lash; you cannot look in the mirror,

For there is nothing left to love.

Sunday morning ritual, you cannot join,

I’m afraid you will burn.

Wrapped up in fine fabrics,

With blood ribbons around your wrists,

You don’t know how to spit out your tongue.

You bathe in the mud of your words,

And I’m the only one who knows that.

You saying your heart is in your palm, when you are holding nothing,

Leaves me to throw my guilt out the window.

I cannot hold onto words that are mere wisps of breathe,

When I’ve felt more weight in the words of my dead father.

I cannot even fathom a moment when I’ll feel sympathy,

When you don’t even deserve my saliva on your shoe.

You own nothing more than a pit of darkness within you,

Everything else is another lie from your teeth.

The lovely days are counting down, you see,

When I will become just a memory,

And escape into my happiness- because-

Loathing will no longer be a part of my vocabulary.

Reviews

[Rob Santana]

You bathe in the mud of your words. That's very clever wording there,I like that.

[Stormy Weather]

Ha, thank you :)