Cycle of Disrgard – a stream of distress poem

In love, have I been shallow?
In life, have I been cruel?
Allow me to elucidate
when women lose their tools.
Fuck my man and I’ll go mad, losing sense
of ideal ownership. Your pen entered my
fantasy with wet staining ink that leaves
its stink long after you’ve left the page.
Exit Author.
Enter Vanity, and Death.


(resurfaced writing on an errant scrap of paper. a nod to a college classmate whose rhythm of “shallow and cruel” language seems to have stayed with me.)


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