I hate that you have no answers
but I also hate good cops looking for excuses
pour the heavy molasses of my unrequited grief
into your fillable chest
then hang up sweet iron cathartic
fist fight on our tongues
Do you call me to hear them?
in between the waves of repeating myself
a screeching cry cracks apologies
in choking sobs, there they flash,
a little girl, color on all she touched
the little boy with his wheel on the edge
You get what you’re giving yet
You keep staring, I haven’t spoken yet
I can’t unsilence until your inner child
is satisfied with my teeth
cutting your little face
enough to tell the truth from reality