Tounges tied in facial cavities was one of the worst experiences to ever happen to me
Throw arms around my neck,
my teeth singing welcomed knocks as they touch
every small follicle as I grate my depreciation
upon the mole i swore to you that was my favorite part.
I’ve had a dream, talking, speaking in lack of rhythm
words with two left feet separating from each-other
never to reunite with another.
we were never to unite together.
Usher those cold words into the open mouths of pours,
filling them with wishful thinking of a demise
for a chance to be reading
a previous poem
at the coroners hearing.
And as I’ll be leaving
your father to be holding my arm
whilst punching my face,
kicking my neck,
on the floor, before everyone,
Screaming this was meant to be,
because I was meant to be hated,
for if I was ever liked, enough,
to grate my teeth upon someones neck
then they’re deserving this fate at best.
Bug-spray needs to excel in order to repel me.
It started with a breath.
A continuation of self interrogation
upon the morning lying,
my physical form lying to her.
Un-purse my lips to spout the
words that I miss saying, that,
‘this is just another missssss-take.’
Instead I kiss
the soft dimples of her cheeks,
eye contact, full sensory, BBC coverage,
as the next moments
deserve to be up for broadcast.
I say it,
I spit the words,
I scream it,
rather I spray
laced in self-adhesive,
because if they don’t stick instantly,
then I’ll make them,
scribble the words harder
scoring viciously with a blacker pen,
so whenever asked if she’s happy,
thoughts come back to remember me.
Roll off the bed,
skin surpasses the thoughts
left neglected in our mental retirement homes,
left long enough alone
that they could easily pass throughout the night
and be found long far-gone.
But this plan has been tried and tried and tried
and if not now is the time to test it,
then I’ll regret the next five months
protesting that I never meant it,
just to do it all over again.
Allow three seconds to pass,
before the heart quakes harder than no seismometer could measure.
She was beyond the scales believing
that this emotional treason
is more demeaning than cheating,
ran to the window holding onto the rail of the third story.
But I swear this was her first, even though i wasn’t hers.
An ending in sight with the pen far, far from dry,
pleading for the confidence she needs to accurately swan dive
down onto pedestrians below,
for one half of a second,
they could know exactly how this feels.
And I say darling, please
Step back from that rail,
to think i meant that much to you
is banishment to narcissistic hell,
Step back from that rail, I pleaded, receded,
unfolding her flat-packed life limber
erecting it back up within an hour.
We converse and talk about the weather
how it’s lovely outside but terrible in
out the door.
I have a need to be forgotten,
not to make an impact, no,
nothing more than to leave an imprint on skin
that begs to be washed off.
My name is Chris Trevena
this is what I will deliver.