good intentions don’t want my love anymore

by suicidallyanonymous

Kidnap my attention,
and drag titanic raindrops
behind the curtains
of broken arithmetic

[one times zero still equals
a black hole and a bartender].

The kitchen clock
can’t wipe Wednesday’s brow
with epileptic fingers,
and the fridge throws hate
in the form of dismembered
chicken wings

[we’ll weep grease for
the bleak absence
of our backbone,
as it melts on our tongue].

Sunrise tastes like melancholy,
but I want to molest your lips


If you enjoyed the poem. please leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: