Tuesday, August 28, 2012


I couldn’t speak
My mind ceased working
Standing there
With bullshit coming
Out of me
As my feet
Ached to flee
Me, the inept Bogart
unable to spit out
My most famous lines
It wasn’t the gun
She had aimed
At my head
I dreaded
I’m used to those
It was the shards of glass
in this femme-fatales’ eyes
And the look of contempt
She kept for those
Too weak to survive
The world in which
She’d survived for so long
Clawing her way to the top
Of every small ant hill,
Like this, taking
What she wanted
But rarely getting
What she needed,
spitting out men like me
like pits
Adding more shards
To a stare
That cut people open
Just to look at
People who always
Crawled away

No comments:

Post a Comment