Stuck   Leave a comment

 

(may trigger)

 

 

Even if I never have the balls to face up to the anger

I am going to plan out the murder

That rages in my soul

And cages the memory of

My sweet, loving, little girl

Lost to your pious and overly confident

Bittersweet, nonchalant, dirty fat man

Stuck inside the sweaty, worn out

40+ year old Easter bunny costume

That urges every child to come and sit

Perched tender on the lap of your lies

And your stories about how

Everyone loves it

If only it’s done properly

And you the expert pervert

Who knows just how to push and pull and spin

Everything around until all that’s left

Is the lacking swell of gravity

As the world slides away and you leave me only

Capable of things like

Dishes, dirty jokes and the many, many

Versions of your death I cum to nightly

 

 

Jen Czahur

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