No, whatever you sold me honey was a shitty thing,
A shitty and broken thing,
With eyes that sting and capacious holes that sing
the very message of the lines and shadows
that promised never to cling
A spectacular face, and wrinkle free,
How glass could choose to be
If it were chosen to live on me
You, woman, sold as seen, these myopic frames;
And me, a bold has-been, blind to the game,
Broken and shitty, all the same.
Posts
