Friday, April 25, 2014


You are a bad writer.
You can't articulate, honey. I can see the words lodge in your throat. Every time you say you love me, your adam's apple swells
how dare you steal my apple adam. What would Satan say?
It's my apple. You try to talk around me and mine. Your words aren't sharp enough, nor acidic enough nor strong enough
to dislodge my apple. Damned to an eternity of suffering...yet here you wear my sin in your throat.
You told me you cannot cry
because your throat closes up and strangles your tears
what if I told you that my conscience lives serpentinely
and tightens its coils around your neck
every time I swell with guilt. 

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