Inward.

You don’t need
to know the science of
how a supernova glows,
in order to see,
so vividly
with clarity
these scars;
I sport them
proud, like how,
you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
Cuban cigars –
Dom Pérignon,
yawn…
this bores me;
shall I go on?
act like you don’t
secretly adore me,
forcefully,
bitterly,
lips sewn closed,
you’re confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not like
it’s rocket science,
my compliance,
I’m submissive
dismissive,
ever renewed,
do I ring true?
You bet I do…
Again,
Big Man
spin my head
around the room,
you’re mad because
my spirit doesn’t
comprehend the likes of you…
But you know the feeling…
good and well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Mr. Passive Aggressive
in designer
spit-shined shoes…
never did I question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine both do –
combustible
ignitable
you’ll see no surprise
in my open eyes,
I’m already onto you;
too ornery
too lonely
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they happen
to stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
no time to talk to,
the Ace up your sleeve,
make my heart
childishly and stupidly
waste time in belief,
of anything
more than what,
we were, already,
turn inward again,
backward
wayward
can’t open your eyes
unable to stir,
the ash back to fire,
this place is absurd,
chasing the promises,
made inward.

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