Understand my absurdity

To my lover: unlace the embroidery
that's become of my mind, unclasp
these hands that dig fingernails
into your arm, undo the adoration
that's embedded behind eyelids
whenever you find yourself cold
and lonely, longing to capture me
in the wasteland of your blankets.

I will be the end of you, the mystery
you wished you'd never solved;
caught in the web of a past
that's fictional. Everything about me
is fictional. My promises are prone
to psychosis; my feelings are fickle
when images flash before me
like daggers, disturbing vision.

Sometimes I don't know if my words
are mine, or a theatre script's, but I know
that I'm not the actress you'd show off,
I'm the apple no one wanted to pluck
except you, but the rot is dripping
on your hands, and if only I had the heart
to let you read my poetry, you'd know,
you'd know I was only worth running from.

12/01/2015
9:59 PM

More letters from Britt: title starting with U, M, A.