Drawer of Resentments

You died.
Then I became exactly
what you always wanted
me to be,
Or what I thought you wanted me to be.

Buzz flies.
Buzz around my weary head
in the wee hours
like the dead grey flower
that I feel like in my haunted mind.

I'm glad
I left you with your dick
in your hand,
never quite a man,
content, with mouth ogaped,
eyes widened at a plastic woman with lips of sin.

Despise,
while walking on the sidewalk
of my internal hell
staring out at each blonde bombshell.
His eyes. Again.
I see her and myself through his eyes
(and through my own lies) criticize her
and die more.

Loose ends.
I'm glad you fucked
my best friend,
because she liked it more than I did.

The end
of the poem of sorts
bloodstained thong on
the (living room) floor,
You people go through my panty drawer
with judging fingers, and sense the doom.

Written 03 July 2011