The Perfect Ending

The perfect ending to a three ton mistake
Hangs in the balance with the noose that she made
In my honor
While the luck she stacked beneath my feet
Was collapsing right beside her in the coldest
Persecution winter could have fathomed
She was waiting for my heart to break
And hoping it would shatter
The gracious thing had no intention of serving
Its own purpose
Perhaps clairvoyance could have predicted
The evil that she harnessed
In my favor
With a Bell-Jar wrecking ball tucked in her back pocket

She removed the ropes from
around my throat
The moment that my heart stopped
The perfect ending to a three ton mistake
Resulted in the derelict mess that she made
An intruder whose poison has caused
Enough pain
To move a moment of ravaged restraint
Until its effect begins to take place
And she runs to hide just as quickly as she
Shame cast out to greet her disgrace
And her only regret was exposing
Her face.
Yet I still look to help her
back up to her feet
the perfect repose for the ultimate

A (Petulant) Metamorphosis

Question: Are YOU finally finished?
Answer: Why yes, I am. They know my restful longing as it fills my heart with the landscape of profanity and shell shaped promiscuity. The learned fight the impulse to partake in such a shallow exchange of lustful deliverance but I am fully equipped with double standards and I will bite right through my open-winged temptation as it hinges on the edge of shapeless desire. I wish to contain those feelings alike as they intrude onto my mindless want– but I reach to feel the human experience of hapless longevity that carried me through adolescence. Derelict, I fringe on the wings of gaudy, tasteless vulgarity and sip from the sins I have repressed in the back of my mouth for such a long time. It is not long before I slip into a formidable façade like the daunting transition from adolescence to maturity. The warm innocence of childhood play mates and hour long temper-tantrums begins to make way for the next phase in an aging cycle. Here, the uninvited misfortune of puberty loiters on the outskirts of human existence like a lonely teenager unmoved by the transcendence of God’s perfect creation.