I've yet to comprehend
the extent of my obsession-
Loving all your pictures
and texts without question,
but I've started to notice...
a quirk
in the new solution,
where I keep inviting
disturbing compulsions.
Every time you slip out
of that work-uniform
into something that
reminds me of being born,
I get the feeling
that I desperately need
to channel my brokenhearted knee-
jerk reactions into something,
even when I'd
rather not. When I feel
too calm,
or tired, but
the burning gets too hot?
I hate this!
I'm stuck between
the asphalt and grease,
caught in the emotions
of feeling on the border,
or just plainly, shamelessly obsessing.
I hear the little voices now --
the demons calling me out --
forcing my hand down over my lap.
I just wanna tap
my hands like a drummer-boy
whenever I see you all dolled up
and lookin' like some sex-toy.
Can I make it fuckin' stop?
You don't seem to know how I
get obsessed
and how quick it seems to turn heads,
as though I were Borderline.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
the Dawning of Rage (poetry)
PoesíaThis is a book of enraged poems. Don't say I didn't warn you! The purpose of this book, essentially, serves as a therapeutic outlet. This is NOT some manifesto, but a place of expression. Feelings of such loathing and hate, I don't believe, should b...
