The Mess

The words fell out of my mouth
Like shit plumetting from twenty stories
Hitting with a sharp snapping splat
In the middle of the stunning white floor
Of the womb of our friendship
It tumbled from my conscious
Because I was too reckless
too care

The faintest traces of wet shrapnel
Stipple the walls
And your shoes
Hard sterile light
Illuminates the vileness
Of who I am
For you to see

It came out wrong
I didn’t mean it like that
But your big round eyes
Stare at me in horror

Can anyone bear the truth
of who we really are
When the steaming mess of our souls
Splatters on the immaculate plastic ground
Of seeming perfection
Who can meet us here
But none
Who can meet us here
But all
Alone
Stillborn

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