St. Thomas Again

I was drunk when I wrote this last night, after seeing the person I had a massive crush on, was in the arms of another, on a photo, kissing his cheek. Even now as I dream That I am over your eyes Piercing at me, As your arms wrapped Around another, I find myself Seething with words Recaptured in my throat Full of bile. Wishing you were somehow Close For my tightly wound Fist To make contact With your beautiful French Face. Was it by accident You never loved me As much as that That Spanish bastard? Were my lips not as curvy And accent as musical? Or was I the estupido Who saved your seat To grant your comfort While forsaking my own Eardrums So you can listen To beautiful music? Well fuck you For never seeing The hope in my eyes Every time you spoke a syllable, Wishing that one word Was out of gratitude.

menoh

I am a button pusher. I stir up trouble. It is what I do. I live in the borders between light and dark. I can write about beautiful things, and joy and love, but I find I am more creative when i write about the dark. I love to hold a mirror up to the...

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