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Teeth, Grinding
Gravitational pulls of discomfort
has my skin sinking,
The late night creaking of
grinding teeth plays an anthem
of future cracks in my Mona Lisa,
Tell me, Desdemona
How does the mood suit you?
How do the angels greet truth?
You're a breath of fresh dirt
a pollen that my allergies can't refute,
Scoot the roots of wrath, darling
so my ears can accept the babble,
My fingers reject your proof
that I'm half here
half mute,
Can't see
your sweet fruit?
I'll admit I'm ripe to some
rotten to many,
A bacteria infested fool
not worthy of your gravity,
An infection high tide surfacing
unfit for your purity ring,
I always tap the eject button
as I'm treading tight ropes
in a conversation's quarrel,
Call me old fashioned
but I crash the bottle like a gentleman,
I fix a glass and half
and pull the carafe closer in
like a confessional,
like I'm looking for a secret message
in the fermented mash
or a lost lover to pull me back from a storm
sunken, half mast,
Pass me around at the dinner table
and take a spoon full for peat's sake,
I'm a muse for whom to use
when you're all dried out
and worse for the wear,
weary from stares
left for all the world
to worship my cares,
calm me down to the daisies
green-thumbed tall-eyed vixen,
call me up to the lands of maybe
instead of the dungeons of "no" stuck on repeat,
give me a chance to fill this dry well
before the bells all rung out,
Raising classes to hum home
and steal their childhoods back,
I deal in fictions lately
and leave my heavy heart
in a locker for the beat to echo
hoping another finds it
and will give it a happier home,
I've taught it dark arts
and left my mind to roam,
Let's go home, choices
Let's lock the doors, decisions
I'll face a world
when I have more
than these hate filled visions
