Can He Do Nothing Else

Compared to the words he says...

A knife to the back would be vacation.

Next to the lies he tells me...

Leeches all over me would be B-E-A-U-tiful.

For once in his life could he just tell a truth

Or tell me something nice?

Or can he only tell me fibs and heartcrushing insults?

I will welcome a knife that stabs into my back

Or a bucket of leeches to suck all my blood from me,

Leaving me with no life, and ending my pain.

Reviews

[Z]

Read through quite a few of your poems, beautifully painful as they are. Sounds like you've been through your own private hell. I hope things begin to brighten for you very soon. Keep up the writing, you certainly have a way of bringing real emotion into the flow of the words!