Circleville

Disclaimer... This poem is in no way designed to condone or excuse the behaviour of the Circleville Writer. By writing this poem I do not accept that what they said was true.

I am somewhat of a hoarder... an obsessive. 

Dragons have their treasure and, Circleville,

I gather inconvenient truths. 

You make it so easy with your sleazy scandals.

Do you not know that your sins, those nights

spent in the bed of another, don't just belong to you?

{They belong to Michael, Peter and me too.] 

There is terror in your heart, and why? 

This letter, short and sweet, reflects only

your prior deeds. 

There is ink on my hands and nothing more,

I am clean. This is why you hate me; 

not because I'm human...

but because I am you. I am that 10:00 p.m. 

phone call - "honey, I'm not coming back" 

I have to *cgh* work late. 

I am your f**king consequence. The

boomerang you threw. Fate 

with a knack for dramatic flare. 

Isn't it easy for you to sit in your suburban

living room? Tres elegant decor. I see it

by the way. 

What, were you only making lemonade? 

In my next life I shall come back as 

a judge, a jury, an executioner

and you the rat.

Put make up on the pig, if you want. 

Put make up on all three. I will huff

and puff and blow your house down.

Because bricks can't shield you 

from what you've done.