Mouth Like A Magazine

Turning  over  in  interrupted  slumber,

You  ponder  others,  growing  ever  wakeful,

You've  locked  the  vermin  in  the  other  bedroom,

To  be  so  perfect  causes  you  to  feel  so  thankful,

Now  find  the  fault  because  your  boyfriend  can't  read,

Reflecting  on  to  you  is  all  the  bitterness  you  need,

So  unhappy,  yet  so  preoccupied,

Never  found  beaten  down  with  your  forked  tongue  tied.

Your  eulogy  is  like  poetry,

But  your  mouth  is  like  a  magazine.

Queen  dependency  is  cowering,  please  don't  be  confused,

You  are  vacant  and  submissive,  receptive  to  abuse,

Virtue  isn't  tangible,  and  sense  of  self  is  dated,

Names  constant  on  your  cracked  lips  are  now  eviscerated,

Your  spine  is  made  of  metal,

Your  veins  are  bound  in  electric  tape,

And  all  along  an  impulse  lights  at  random  in  your  face,

Yough  cought  up  an  offering  and  forget  which  words  are  lies,

Then  your  skull  echoes  a  singeing  pop,

as  your  brain  is  cauterized.

Within  the  walls  I  hear  all  of  its  legs,

There  must  be  so  many  to  carry  it  over  our  heads,

Seething  and  unsettled  and  oh  such  a  let  down,

And  now  these  rusty  spokes  inside  my  head

are  making  such  a  grating  sound.