They take me in pinches, then throw me overboard.
They waste me like something they cannot afford.
The salt in my saliva gets mixed with their tears.
It’s the recipe for failure, it’s a hurricane of fears.
They spread my thoughts on their walls like paint,
Then use my eyeballs as lamps, classy and quaint.
The sour sentences I spew get collected in bowls,
And they use my brain to fill rifts and holes.
They scrub my consciousness with their dirty paws,
They wrap my skull in some yellowish gauze.
The bitterness is quickly climbing up my throat,
But the anchor in my chest is keeping me afloat.
So, they massage me into their scalps with vigor.
They watch me collapse in front of their triggers.
The last of my trust decays until nothing is left.
It’s a recipe for failure, it’s a rope around my neck.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 