All the beautiful people. Love you. When life is pretty,
and you give them what they want.
When you are high and shy, and cry
and mourn the shallow waters that
they walk in. When you jerk and twitch
hitch up your seductive skirt
to trail along after the silliness that they leave
Thumbs up. Selfie smile. When all the while.
You can only see you.
Your situation. Your spit as it
hits my face.
Your perfectly filtered,
perfectly timed, re-rhymed, re-rehearsed lies;
so well managed.
Attention seeking innuendo. Magnetic bursts of grief.
Devastating disbelief at how alone you are.
Who walks away.
From those that faced you.
who embraced you.
Without question. Until, the only question was – why?
You knew that the gun, you kept aiming at me.
And that your aim;
Your breathtaking aim, would find me with no effort. None.
Blind coward like pretending.
Fake bull like charging into, ‘I feel too much.’
So you run.
So, you sit.
So you hide.
So you lean on ‘this is who I have always been.’
That works for you.
It always has. It keeps you safe. Your blanket of
phobia and fear and vulnerability and
You are the same. Now.