Thursday, January 21, 2016


I offered you my heart,
plattered. You weren't hungry.
The silver was tarnished.

You bricked it in,
untasted, to your hollow chest,
bloodied and beating,
unconcerned that you
might be killing me.
I chose poorly.

Your vision was narrowed,
blindered and staring,
seeing only the inside
of your own skull.

I carved away my pound of flesh.
I could never slice off enough.
You taste nothing;
your appetite, ravenous.

Can I have my heart back now?

The buffet is closed.

1 comment:

  1. closed buffet!
    lthe laughing Pippa