My Rubber Soul
The abyss awaits me.
There is something comforting
about the sulfur
like chocolate-chip cookies
on Saturday Morning.
It smells like Marlboro Reds
$2 beer and temptation.
I try to ignore the call
of smoky darkness.
The thought of his hands
like a pen on my blank pages
creating a history
from my silence.
It’s a longing
self-destruction. The wrecking-ball
waiting to rip through my home.
He sees me,
sees disloyalty like a tattoo
through the haze of red, green,
purple. Jazz singing my blues.
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