She painted me in violent red
Dripping oil and
Strokes of toxic lead
Painted bloodied battle scenes
Of her, martyred
Me, dead
Vast imagery to tell her story,
Duplicitously
She painted her face
On every soldier, replaced,
And sold it museum to museum,
Showcased
I am the pawn,
Exhausted
A lifetime of submission
Of holding up hers,
Supported
I jumped ship and swam to shore
Faced that pain,
Drew lines in the sand,
And ended the war
She sings to the world her lies
Still, now
And paints me in violent red
From the cut she made,
From the wounds she bled.

Sarcastic amputator of a man,
She was the biggest of his fans.
She said she wanted to have fun,
He was so close, she had to run.

A witness told us all his cons.
A dagger in the human lungs.
“He told me I deserved to choke!”
His response: “What a beautiful joke!”

They found the ropes beneath his bed,
Knotted tightly with what she said.
A tight collar summons death.
A breath. A breath. A BREATH.

The only crown above his game
Caught him fast, as he admitted his blame.
A shattered mirror for a name:
Shame. Shame. SHAME.

It was real.
I can feel it.
Like fingers wrapping
Around my wrist.
Wispy and delicate...
Or rough and jagged?

You tell me it never happened.
But why is my pillow stained with my tears?

Because I know my tears were real.
But to you...
They were just phantom tears.

I drink in manipulation,
My soul bathes in it.

I love it like water,
Need it to breathe.

So keep it coming,
Keep on using me.

I'll never say goodbye,
Until I die.

His words twisted the corners
so right curved into left,
and truth bent sideways,
making me believe
I was going the wrong way.
Hedgerows grew tall,
and thick with argument,
until they swallowed the gas lampposts,
turning pathways into shadows.
I walked blind and barefoot
through the thick of it,
earth damp, worn thin as my breath.
Was I supposed to find the center?
Was there ever an exit?
There was no map,
just whispers in the leaves,
and his voice,
ringing in my ears,
a compass spinning
from asking too many questions,
and doubt,
folded into my own pocket.
My soul became blistered
from chasing after ghosts of
wanted apologies,
so I kissed the ivy,
hoping the walls would soften.
but they spiraled,
a boa constrictor handcuffing my legs.
I took a sharp turn,
desperate,
crawling on my belly,
a soldier avoiding fire,
fingertips clawing into the red clay,
and found the center,
where a red lip-sticked mirror stood,
half cracked, words still whole:
"you're not the one who's lost"

Baby, I am your baby.
My tongue utters stanzas that befuddle you, my baby.
I am your baby — my hands create a muddle in your dreams,
Dreams that never come true.

Gobs of doves shout that you never loved me from the start.
Yet what could they do?
Now, I am yours — your baby — grappling with reality
And your dreams that will never come true.
I'm your baby. Say it, baby.
Then we'll be unified.

I am your baby. The sun defies me.
So I create a moon from the light I gather in the depths of your eyes.
And then the sun is distracted by the beauty of the moon in the sky.
She forgets me — an entity that belongs to you.
Now, take me. Own me.

A utopian chimera, written by God himself —
I stole it and forced it to become true.
As I become your baby,
I burn down your dreams, rotting in the abyss.
So replace your dreams with me.
Let only my dreams exist.

I'm your baby. Own me — even as my impure saliva stains your bedsheets.
You realize, when you touch it, when you feel it —
Nausea. You run to the sink,
Throwing up everything you ate, including me.
Remember — I am your baby.

I am your baby, intertwine our fingers when we go over a trestle above the abyss.
I knew you would long for your old dreams that would never come true.
Now I be your dreams — the ones you will cherish, as I am your baby.