I walk the streets, angrily muttering—
Not talking to myself—talking to you—
Yelling at you—cursing and sputtering—
Sticking a long verbal pin in a voodoo
Doll with your hair—but you won’t fucking die.
You’re like a cancer that gets twice as strong
When it’s attacked—you’re like an ugly lie
The truth keeps proving right instead of wrong.
You’re an infection with no remedy.
You’re the sweet lethal poison on the dart.
And when I try to rip you out of me,
Your cat claws just dig deeper in my heart
And you say the one thing I’m frightened of:
I like the pain more than I want the love.
Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells