unspoken words
lying on the counter
sharp as steak knives and
ready to cut in
hearts still rare
as the timer goes off
diseased from the slaughterhouse
stench of rancid roast
turn off the lights and
leave me at the table
i’ll put the kids to bed while he’s
halfway down your throat
think i’ll add some more artwork
to the hallway by our bedroom
some knuckles in the drywall
maybe a heart completely bled
No comments:
Post a Comment