a foreign film without subtitles

written after a break up.....

                                                              

these memories slide away

like a crashing bullet train

stuffed frames slapping the side of the projector

flicker and fade at 1,000 frames per second

you cut and paste

to suit your contempt

and accusations

there is no cohesion

or meaningful rhythm

left in your wake

 

 

you possess the luxury

 

of defining me by my past mistakes

then hiding your face

behind prison bar fingers

of anger and fear

while telling me how i should feel

pour the guilt down my throat

choke the love from my heart

tell me who you are today

i cant translate the spite and pain

this is is your art

the past is your medium