snowball had the loathing
something chronic she’d
smashed all her mirrors in iconoclast and said she’d pan my windows too if I
didn’t lick her wounds self inflicted wounds are often the last to
heal least
said soonest mended they
used to say but they were wrong
she had come on like a breath of sunshine but she had dark roots I’d been keeping a beady on her peroxide explosion altruistically fucking her from time to time it cut both ways we both had needs
I was pretty liberal with the advice but more frugal with my affections I like to think of myself as a coward that’s the best spin I can place on my actions I couldn’t dive in because I can’t swim so I turned away at the crucial moment I closed my eyes but I still heard her cry
I guess for her I was yet another disappointment in a long series of disappointments was I a user?
an abuser?
or just a man of straw? I’m
not the best judge of that for
my part her
voice is one of many all asking the
same question do you now
or did you ever possess an ounce
of soul?
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