Lindsay’s Scribblings

Fingernails full
Of cells
Entropic
Scratched from my back
To be washed down the drain
Of my shower:  I lack
A proper campaign,
Misanthropic
Death-knells,
A cull,
Or a gain.

Feigned nonchalance does not fool
My body
Your solace is arrhythmia
The wobbling, teetering
Too-loud heartbeat Of
your captive
Pen-mate
Your solace is arrhythmia
A fluctuating victory
Whose only term:
I suffer.

And I, broken
Would be yours
Is that it?
I would,
I’m sure.
And yet,
Only your craving for chaos
Would make me stay.

The point was hammered: my protocol is off, hurtful.
I know it.
The point was hammered so I broke:
Not one more blow.

Such a blank white canvas is
Intimidating
Though it never was before
I have resisted it
And you
Imperiously
Meekly
But now I shall concede.

I recognize this pattern:
The emails, the phone call
The internet stalking.
I recognize this pattern
The need for some,
Any
Interaction, recognition, reaction,
Justice.

I know what your apology says:
I’m sorry I wasn’t what you wanted
I’m sorry I couldn’t convince you to stay with me
I’m sorry that you were unhappy
I’m sorry that I snapped at you
And I wish I hadn’t said I never wanted to speak to you again
Because in reality I do
Every day
The way we used to talk
But not now
With the prospect of your misdeeds looming overhead.
Oh yes, I know what your apology says,
And I know that it doesn’t compare
With the apology I owe you.

Desire I can write of
Fury just the same
But Love
Love
My pen tarnishes thy name

The ink heart on my hand bleeds
And I want it to bleed
Into you
To Impress you
Imprint you
Meld you
Mine
With a single
Spasmodic squeeze

The ink heart on my hand bleeds
Like I will
If you leave.

Everyone who knew me,
 knew.
You knew me too,
didn’t you?