Poetry · volume 1
Toxic
Would it be so niceTo just give inTo lace every word with venomTo take and trick with vile intent? To tell you what you want me to sayThose affirmations you demandDespite their questionable relationship with reality To manufacture feelings for youSimple onesThe kind that don’t require a long sleepless night To feed them to you from this spoon I builtAnd each lie would add a notchEach swallowed recriminationEach avoidance of confrontationEach time you think you know what I’m thinkingBut actually you don’t And my spoon would get bigger and biggerUntil one dayI would finally get hungryAnd you wouldn’t have any spoon at all.