Cabin Fever

Last chances and regrets

3-8-05

Crawling fluid on your frozen chocolate glass floor,
wound by wound is pieced together from you.
No more stitches;
now the healing can begin,
or so I think.
I was running toward the door again,
hiding in your plainest view
when everyone else was gone
and you so defiantly
began your vindication
by jumpstarting my demise in your insides.
This moment before the moving
is taking forever
and I have no more escape,
like the hair flowing down your back
in slow-motion,
poisoning me
with your barstool evangelical charm.

This death of mine will surely be
better than the dying.

The elevator you chased me into;
trapped me with you,
has crashed me through your empty ceiling
and the air erupts into
the enemy in you,
sending pieces of me
everywhere I'm not supposed to be with you.
The onlookers have started to gather
to steal my remains and reward you
for all your faults you'll never overcome
while they ingest my plight
as several broken armies
with no battles in sight site.
What they'll never know
is what they're taking from me
is everything you've ever done.
And all that's left is you swearing
I was actually right.
God bless them all.