Here is the knot in my gut you tied
and here is my pulse I can't slow down
did you know that she cried so I cried
which you've hit me for
before I started carrying a knife
though in the climax I fumbled
and crumbled so easily
with a plastic band that told me my name.
Your throne is a chair and that doesn't mean much
just a touch of arrogance just
a place to sit until the music
starts with a heavy bass line
commanding you to your feet
Though in this round nobody stole your seat
it was burned
and as you stood back and learned nothing
but the extent of your rage
blurs came into focus persuading
salt water to drip from six eyes with
such urgency,
as if the question mark
punctuating the last 15 years
could be transformed into a calm period
by mascara drawing black rivers on my face.
My place is malleable but
change is hard and this bed is so comfortable
in contrast to my thoughts,
persisting and insisting that I make love to my life
which requires acceptance
and now that dependence has lost all meaning
and needs are just extreme feigning
I've begun to grow.
So, here is the scar you left on my heel
and here is the picture you tore
I swear cause I swore I'll move on.
Without reign, 15 years gone.