I am glass melting on sunburned skin;
counting my lucky stars as they fall,
but they're falling, leaving behind the blank the boring,
a heavy, hallow darkness that sits behind my pupils,
pulling out the strangling yarn,
following that which leaves too-tight-to-untie knots,
there - in my stomach, knitting together that which I want the least,
ironic in my unraveling.
So humor me.
I am sucked up through a straw and swallowed down something loooooooooooong
and yellow,
and it’s gross.
No, not even an empty box of chocolates,
I am the cheap stuff; twenty-year old melted goo, white with age-
something kept to be savored, but in the end, thrown out:
flat,
gone bad.
I am your favorite CD that skips at the best bits.
I wish I could deny how this feels, there's pain despite dead skin,
but damn, I’m a joke with a too quickly delivered punch line
and I’m a laugh that went stale in someone’s sweaty palm,
squeezed, like a child's hamster,
'loved' until the eyeballs pop out.
I am a soggy pale paste wanting to be told I’m magic,
a crouton dreaming it could be communion bread.
Disappointed in how I’ve disappointed, yet I’ve got MY Ego still,
Telling me that it’s my fault for every wrong.
But, baby, can I be blamed?
- - - I’m only a PBJ sandwich dropped peanut-side down, unmopped.
I get stuck on the roof of the mouth along with the cat hair.
I am crayons melted in the baby's carseat, scented animal cracker,
but still wishing I was Picasso.
So, baby, don’t forget to wear the suntan lotion and goggles
- - because here comes somebody else's problem.
