Sometimes in class when all I could do was

smile

I couldn’t escape your voice or the

disgusting

tile.

I guess you wanted me to rejoice;

holding my legs open the moment

you

decided to take whatever your

pretty,

little heart desires.

Powerful lines.

Hatch marks and bruises

across your skin

bloom like ink spread from fresh newspaper;

though it was never news.

I don’t understand how to feel anything but used

so I let them each take a small piece of me;

a token of gratitude for carving out

hollow forms inside of my mind

and leaving me

alone to grieve-

I’m behind.

Keep up with the Times.

Smell your brain start to unwind.

I’m a restless, bold and forever

unreciprocated lover.