Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Sadist

Hot enmity for the luck of strangers
taunts me with laughter,
my throat full with frustration 
a stone egg hard to swallow
chased by embarrassed sorrow
slung steadily down 
a twitching esophagus 

the old dagger plunges
into the usual place in my gut
hoping to cut out my consternation
growing like cancer in
this calloused sheath 

I am a walking sickbed
bred to be
a so-called sweet servant 
turned indentured twilight merchant
searching for meaning
in what can often be the most thankless job

"I wish I had Jesse's girl" paradox 
sitting like pop rocks
pockmarking the back of my throat,
speech coated with faux support
while I boil inside a saccharine purgatory,
protagonist in the same old story,
it makes me wince,
digging into chartreuse wounds 
of a battered frog prince.

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