Watch It

I could reach my hands inside your mouth and split you open like a peach. The sadder that I get the worse I talk about it.
I have violence in me like breakers, doll- they swell, and ebb- but that's not what this is. It's more the way things should be, a return to the quiescent state before you grew your grand ideas. You never shammed me, doll.
I could count the drops of sweat that beaded on your young little lip.
This backlash, now- how sad, oh bunny, pobrecita, dear. Did you fuck it all up? Did you derail and lose what little respect you held cogent 'gainst your oft-flashed ass? Did you ruin something you wanted so goddamn bad you'd mark up corny books of poetry, or flowers, and leave them shivering on my doorstep?
Did you have no one else to blame?
How cute that now you're coughing up your bile. You'll lose the taste for it, sad babydoll, oh dear.
Don't let your cunt, or drink, turn you into another skidmark bimbo on the scene. Oh yeah- I'm mean- But never were to you.
Don't fuck my memory to ease your choices made. I've had enough of taking punches for the decade, peach. Your whole ripe shell would shuck in half and settle to the sawdust in a pile. It's age, and care for my self that's made me treat folk well.
Yeah, sure, they listen when I speak; and I do love to laugh. You'll listen too if I lose that keynote bit, and tear your fake in half.
Thanks for the fucking photo.