![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/65109e387acf21001c2992e0.jpg)
before the darkness drops its drapes
I pour out all your inner charm on my dining room table
it is made
of your soft, seemingly unmanly voice
lack of temper and wavering gait
like a cowboy who just jumped off his horse;
I would like to devour you whole
as if you were
a roasted pigeon that, dismayed
with the amount of verbal abuse
managed to fall into the wrong hands;
I have you within me
I wouldn’t dare to deal
with a specific allocation to one place
of my body
where you were and where you weren’t;
like a dormant volcano from primary school
you awakened all the deepest feelings in me
those forgotten and always pushed
into the darkest and dirtiest corners of my brain
now fully explained
to me through your generous heart
is it finally open yet?
time has shown that this will never be the case
and surprisingly even for me, it didn’t make me
a weeping willow
but a river of relief
flowing with greater force
than ever before
thanks to your unrelenting meanness
---
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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