Kindling For A Falling Bridge.

I suppose thinking you would stay stuck in the past

Was a little too much to ask,

You surface to the top of my current thoughts

With the dark and oozy persistence

Of an off-shore oil spill.

— You’re unwanted,

You kill the formation of my ideas often,

Your idea of living comes off to me as foreign

Your understanding of bonding bears the likeness

Of a grassy field at the periphery of erosion.

I won’t hide the bad thoughts I have when I think of you

I hold my values and speak only what I believe to be true

I don’t expect, nor hope, that you’ll hear my words and agree

I only empty my lungs, exorcising your flimsy demon out of me.

The radical would say you’re straddling satanic

You? Hardly.

I’d settle for simply calling you moronic —

— Idiotic, as you preach mindfulness from the comfort of an invisible pulpit

The sole of your shoes bound to the rustic pedestal of a f*cking narcissist.

Don’t tell me about language

If you paid attention you’d know I’ve since had it.

Go ahead, flatter yourself into thinking I wrote this for you.

Please, I dare you. Chug it all down.

Soon after, pay no mind to the sensation of your insides forming lesions,

Tends to happen when you try and digest the sharpness of a wit you can’t fathom.

I write — I breathe, life into each piece

It’s a hard tilt — unfiltered by my loyalty to the path of a creative

No experience of mine is beyond comodifying,

— Liquidating and displaying on a fine sheet of paper.

As such, you and the lint that was our tether

Will be of further use in lining my passion as a writer.

There are no good or bad choices

Only regrets,

When it comes to those — I have many

But the kindling offered by our shared experience

Assures you’ll never reach the worth of being one.

– O.D. ©2020

Art by: Gydw1n