Flushed at this funeral, a little red-faced and now wasted:
somatic septic cells in fetal position rowing, then wading through fecal
mix in matters (too private to halt) with dioxins to incinerate lungs of pets and
pets that are children and yes, even, children, but that wouldn’t be green.
Pieces: umbilical, ambivalent, paraxial, personal, particles,
a gorey inconvenient truth, a choice warming in an all too earthen oven,
too full for responsibility to try ‘n muster the strength to alter a sound to see
my tiny body.

No reason, no complaint
Other than a screaming “Why, why did you do it?!”

You don’t think that you deserve me and
That you would leap from tall buildings in a single bound.
I’m sorry if I never thrill you like someone else.
When you tire of the party, tell me.

If my opposite is ingrained, you’ll never change
Like the yearbook signatures: “Never change.”
But you can change, because I cry every night
Throwing objects against the wall from my bed
When I think of you in bed.
Then, I never want to see you again
Because I’m ashamed, but I would never tell you because
They believe you sometimes
One time,
Then you might break like porcelain.

For a millisecond
I wish I could have ran when I wouldn’t have felt guilt.
No matter what I say;
No matter if I can’t say anything
I still care.