Slay

She scratched her nails littely bitterly
Bit them with the focus of a violin maker
Marked the edges of thumbs with deep
Depressive presses with her soft fingers
Finicky with biting skins on sorest edges
Gestily grinding cold teeth to raw skins
Sknip a synapse in her brain with seething
Teething damned jealously lousy strut...
Trummed like the strings of an old harpy
Pray for this to pass like the rest of them
Thereafter sweep up the mess of them
Theremin the untouchable be all of them
Then my poor tired heart of skin and nails
Slay this jealousy with thy frightful laugh!


"But Oh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes."
- ‘As You Like It’ by the Bloke Who Invented the English Language