"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see." Edgar Degas

Friday, June 23, 2017

My Amputated Love

My amputated love
Still makes small animal noises but now
They’re an unpleasant kind
That wake me up before the sun
Perforate my eardrums
Then whispers words that I can’t hear

My amputated love
Puts on war paint and drinks too much
Of everything, not only booze
Pulls up a barstool next to mine
Asks me to pass the salt
So it can rub it in my open wounds

My amputated love
Submits an invoice for its pain
Won’t accept payment of any kind
Charges exorbitant interest that would
Make a credit card company blush
Then turns me over for collection

My amputated love
Lies next to me and rubs my thigh
Whispers lies into my ear
Rests her head against my chest and
Listens for the echoes where my heart
Used to beat