deepundergroundpoetry.com

So

Self expressed for easy living,
you raise the stakes
and leave them here
in the kitchen
underneath the blackened toast.
I'll swear when I find it there
when cleaning
as I don't like dirty
surfaces
and put it in the black bin liner
with ashtray stubs and smashed glasses.
House parties never dull the
beauty of a bet, especially not the bet
we made
upon my heart and soul
though I wished it was all
strategy.
We're pathetic,
foolish souls,
you live freely while I try
carefully not to tread
on your toes
and your bones
that crack at every touch.
I can't see the picket fence,
the three boys I would have,
the wedding in a forest of patchwork and fairy lights
but sometimes, sometimes it's refreshing
to know your stakes and my OCD
make a completely compatible match
only when the
rose tinted glasses are smashed
somewhere at the bottom of a black bin liner
beneath the ashtray stubs and burnt toast.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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