This
lump in my stomach isn’t going away
The
onion I’m peeling is my own existence and I’m tired of coming up short with
tears in my indispensable eyes
The
narrative got changed while bullets were flying over our heads and you washed
your panda slippers for the millionth time
I
know we can’t go back to the beginning and what would even be the point?
Before
I came out to Middleburg Heights and we ate turkey and corned beef sandwiches
The
library was a bust and so was the poor bird that got squished, but putting my
hand on your thigh and you later telling me how it made your pussy throb will continue
to replay in my Sodom and Gomorrah mind until the end of time
Everything’s
dead or at least on life support and maybe that’s for the best, at least until
she figures out what she wants and what she wants to do with my cadaver
We
were in a corn field. Just me, you and the car that drove us into this mess
because I fell asleep at the wheel and thankfully woke up before we hit the culvert
I’ve
never been all that great at following through, but I swear someday I’ll put
away childish things and accept the death sentence of being a grown up
I
hear trucks pass by as you sleep and I imagine them bringing you samples
because you deserve only the best as all of this uncertainty goes by the
wayside like roadkill or organic vegetables
Seeing
how we’re putting all of our cards on the table I told her I was falling in
love and thankfully she didn’t hang up the phone or run from the room with her
hair on fire
Everything’s
dead and that’s okay because I believe in the Lazarus effect, meaning that the
raising of the dead is more than possible in these days of box wine and roses
disguised as Hershey’s Kisses
Charles Cicirella
7/19/17
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