My thoughts betray me.

I feel the cloven boot twist into my back.

My jaw clenched, cracking my chest.

My throat, strangling through thoughts of seeing,

all the things I might do, to those two…

I am Othello, hunting for Desdemona

remembering the severed finger,

now pocketed as a memento

after the deed completed and a life ended.


My thoughts continue to betray

thinking on the one I have now,

which is not the one I want or had, to have

but still one apart of my so called existence.


Settling is a natural thing, all things considered, do it.

You let it go long enough and things settle.

If they are loose enough there is natural separation.

People find a comfortable root and cop a squat.

I have yet to settle, into acceptance, but can’t move on,

for I have not yet released my codependently wanton grip

on this other she cunny-bitch traitor-thing replaced by…


She kind, and sweet, and friendly and yet uninteresting.

A warm right-now body to lay beside, take my pains

wash them away or keep me over them,

in the least hiding they until again one day

I’m ready to face those bleeding mirrored pictures

to lick and doctor my back’s knife wounds.


My thoughts hold me at bay, screaming

five-years of twenty-minute short stories

that tell of my life as it will be

searching the depths of the faces,

places I will haunt in my success,

hoping for all without excess

hoping for fair shares of what’s coming.


I have worked, finger to bone bleeding

sacrificing time, dates and love

in the battle of hoping on a prayer

to a focused vein of my life

if you remain on the path

eventually the light will touch you.


I am I, my thoughts betray

hunting for a trifecta this day’s knight,

publication with pay, she with love,

and find contentment with self.



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