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
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
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