Submissive Love

Submissive Love

No, the good does not outweigh the bad
love does.
Love is the ballast for the scales
without 
defeat, misery, chaos and loss. 

Once tipped,
the bad proves the meaningless of professed love
words and deeds will aways align
to out bad faith actors
you have only to look.

If only you'd looked first before stepping into the abys of 
submissive love
For both are false. 

Tax & Ash

Trust not, love protests born in the heat of urgent passion
Trust not, love born out of one-sided trauma
For passions will inevitably cool
One eventually learns the tax is too high
The perceived prize, no longer worth the risk.
 
Pheromone hazes will clear
Like nuclear fall out
Turing endearments into frosty ash
Coating mouths and intentions
With inevitable resentments and vitriol.   
A personal Pompeii you can only pray will someday be unearthed
Studied and cherished.
 
Let calmer hearts speak of love
Grounded and secure
Less likely to give into fantasy
Less likely to give the monkey brain the wheel
Prone to driving all to Self-indulgent ruin.

Mourning the Living

Mourning the living is a special kind of hell
With the dead one thinks , “I’ll see you again in the afterlife or the next”
If you believe that sort of thing.
Romantic thoughts of reincarnated souls
Finding each other over and over again
Against all odds, amongst billions of timeless souls
Haunted by mere memories and ghosts.
 
While with the living, however, one is haunted with the knowledge
That while someone has chosen to separate from you
You still live in the same sphere
and will likely cross paths again, one way or another.
You are tormented with the knowledge of
Accessibility, proximity, access
Whether physically or virtually.
Giving the allusion that contact is not only a choice 

but some sort of magic that one invoked will lead to reunion, gratification and solace.
 
Wantonly giving into fantasies
Willfully forgetting, in that moment, that
it is the relationship that died a sordid death
not to be resurrected, save for midnight psychic 20/20 flagellation sessions.
For reaching out to your former partner would be a bit like calling the undertaker.
Having been paid, the burial complete, their script has been read
And nothing remains to be said.

Remember Your Worth

Those who treat you like a toy will tire of you eventually.

The novelty worn off

you will morph into the forgotten toy

The discarded old shoe, a useless object

Dismissed without regard

Disposable and forgotten.

A temporary creature comfort,

kept through lies and vows of forever.

But you knew that,

and gambled anyway -

Praying to be the exception to the rule

Praying for unbridled addiction

Praying for a leopard to change its spots.

You are not the “bargain-bin-barbie” simply because they failed to see your worth

Pity them, to a degree

For the truth will eventually out

and by then you will no longer care what that broken creature thinks

despite convenient apologies.

They forget they gambled as well

And the losses will present themselves

Through “what if’s” and regrets long after you’ve healed and moved on.

Thank You For Your Service

Turns out

you were just another brick in the wall

you promised to tear down

using the map of their story

you poured the salt

and walked away.

Bred & Dead

Kicked, kept

bred and dead

that's how they want us

Cattle for weak men's whims

Desperate to keep Adam's secret

so ripe with guilt

it stuck in their throat for millennia

Best to keep us down then admit their shame.

Gutted

 Gutted like a fish

our democracy, liberties and freedoms

Entrails & Offal

slick the floors of the fish market

once known as Congress