I remember your face and bile writhes in my throat.
I wonder what hallucinogen tore my eyes from their sockets
and blinded me from the way you were,
what drugged thought squeezed every pinch of sanity from my mind,
to have induced such a callous reaction.
I should have known better.
I throw my hands to my ears, as disgust for my own mistake
festers in the murky waters of my heart,
echoes in my head.
I should have known better.
I could whisper it all day, chastising words rolling off my tongue like
paper pieces cast to the air by feathered flame,
but somehow my poetry can't put him to words.
How does one add eloquence to creepy?
