I can’t let this ruin my Sunday
but the darkness in me erupts
like a bubbly ooze
and replaces my facade
with a dash of regret
and a hint of turmoil.
This whole thing was a mistake
on some distant dystopian
notion of love,
in some ruined ash
of torment
and here I am on a train
giving you more of me
than I would ever want,
back in this trap of pointing
the finger at myself,
wiping you clean of anything and everything,
leaving myself open for more hits and disappointment
until I am shattered--
left with broken pieces in my hand,
cut by the sharp teeth
from your vindictive mouth.
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