Parking Lot

In one split sentence

you showed me your demon

bludgeoned me with words

tore my soul

up in seconds.

I keep on patching it up

but you find those seams

and rip them apart.

I repeat those words

like a five year old child

and cry in half-empty parking lots

with a suitcase full of nothing.

Let’s decorate the halls

with mirrors to reflect

another anniversary.

Let’s half break up sex

and never make up.

I met you here at this exact spot

Tim Hortons’s across the street

and you showed me how angelic

you could be with prose.

I run so fast now

you can never catch me

except at four am

when I am asleep

vulnerable

and all my weakness

in the palm of your hand.

Make me cum in seconds

and there I am

your little whore again.

The one you choose to love

over all the others.

Content you took my power

and upset

at how soon

I relenquish it.

You can never win

me

and that is why

your demons

trail after me.

Only mine refuse to combat

prefer to cry in lots

and create lies into truths.

In twenty-four hours

lives can change

just like that

with words

spoken.

This is why I am a poet.

I would rather eat them up

and drink them

sleep on them

be careful with them

protect them

while you disrespect them

and me.

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