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Jay |
it’s funny, how your letters don’t hurt me, don’t cut
right away, how I can laugh at the first reading, think about your
tantrums as just childish and harmless, coming out of your head
pass copies along to friends for critique and mutter “What
did I ever see in that crazy boy,” sure
that there’s nothing to worry about, you’re practically dead
to me. it’s not until I’m alone in bed that the nut
words “dirty bitch” and “classless slut” sink in, bore
into my heart, past years of shutting out the red
anger and fear and seeing only the good parts of you, cut
out the truth, break down from illusion to reveal the truth: you’re
fucking crazy, you scare me, and I’ll never get you out of my head.
copyright 2006
Holly
Day |
