Sapiosexual
I sexualize the smoke clouds
I anticipate the grief before it grows on me like a hospital bill
And there's no telling if I won't or will
If I fill the tank with secrets, will you spill?
Your most egregious takes were the entire highlight reel
Watch me perform in the firing squad of scorn
The text of who I worship running down my arm,
More sacrosanct than the gardens of Babylon
You're hanging on thin wire more exposed than blood on white floors
Red flags and white wine
Waiting for the moment when my calls of desperation turn back into quiet vapors
If I'm so esoteric, then what makes you so perspicacious?
You took your shame and made it a weapon
I took my trauma and made it the confidant to the pen
Another land of caution that feels illicit
I see the mirror and feel anything but shy;
You see a graveyard of stars, I see the open sky
I sexualize the smoke clouds and its the best I've ever felt under bed sheets
I anticipate the lucid dream but it still ends up gaslighting me
Wrapping like vines tickling their way to me
I feel like I'm not grounded enough to excel in forestry
And lately I've been watering the soiled, toxic side of me
You see a surgical classroom, I see a severed artery
You took your victim status and made it a medal,
I put my brain into the pen and called it a bible
Sunken claw marks on reflective doors
Keeping my expression latent for when I'm feeling repentant
Gasping on some silence in unfinished basements
Telling ventriloquists that we're feeling voiceless
Staring through my pupils in the mirror
The elation has many layers
But the paranoia lasts longer than a light year
Waiting for the mask to slip and fall on me
Leaving on the porch light for your sedated imprecation
I walked a thousand miles in my own shoes
Defacing blisters the entire way
I walked a thousand more miles in your shoes
Just to get a sense of the journey without being blinded by the view
The trees whispered my name
But every exit sign of lamina and veins looked exactly the same
So I stayed entering identical time loops
Because the doors looked like prison bars and that feels like home to me
And since when was my unprocessed trauma not a new discovery?
Will I ever get to it?
It slowly crawls towards me like a zombie with its legs blown off
But will I ever truly work it out?
My cross to bare; your pick of behaviors to denounce
Copyright © Matthew Bailey | Year Posted 2024
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