And yet I sit in constant fear of what might happen next
I mean yes you were simply vexed at the time of your sending that hex
but
perhaps you never realized the pain that I gained every time you refrained from calling my name
Bitch
I can be one and yet every time I feel the pain of your glare I dare, to ask myself to prepare for a fist to dislocate my hair
Shutup
I don’t know what to do with these slamming doors
stomped upon floors and silent, cold airs
The anger in a movement
the flicker of hate
am I bait? or the catch of the day
Do I bring you rose’s
or simply the cold gray of skies
left without the suns enterprise of making glad
all that is had
I don’t know what to say to you
and so my words come out confused
looking for purchase in every syllable
backtracking at each conjunction
hiding in verbs, perhaps a noun to describe myself
you won’t have so long to run
I’ll become a pun at the end of a bad joke
and whistful thought
drowned out by a shot of cognac
and..
I guess
that’s that
in fact….
I detract this statement.
~AmaRose