chain rattling assbags of the past

The cloth ordered in our size
had beatings  
and poverty  
woven in the grain  
and our makers cut us
arm-and-neck from that single  
cloth before burning it  
with our backs still in it.  
 
I saw you in the shards of  
the mirror I hated myself in.  
 
And you.  
There was no one like you,
like me,
like you.
 
We were as funny as  
as smart as  
as sexy as
as damaged as  
as widly passionate as a moment  
snapped from a workvan of the  
rising sun on an alien ocean  
 
we were rough wall sex  
in poetry
 
good
 
so good  
 
and you made  
finger puppet theater  
in my pussy as I  
deemed you  
a gifted storyteller  
 
And you...  
 
You...  
 
You motherfucking cunt-dog  
 
You let me down.  
 
You made me weak  
and stabbed me with our  
kitchenware while I  
stood stunned on  
a dirty floor  
 
You hurt me in new ways  
that fucked me up  
for eons and made  
love permanently  
dysfunctional  
 
because I believed you  
 
I believed you.
 
you mother fucking fucker
 
I.  
 
Believed.
 
And your two-faced cunt show  
fucked me over so exceptionally bad  
because you proved  
that people like us  
never  
get
better.
 
People like us are destined  
to be shitbags our whole lives  
 
You were a twin heart,  
a same soul  
we had the same story,  
and our class of human dirt  
never rises above...  
 
yet we did.  
 
We did.  
 
Except that we didn't.  
 
And that is a bullet I can't dig out.  
 
I fantasize about telling you off.  
I fantasize about fucking you.  
I fantasize about forgiving and forgetting.  
 
But deep down,  
I am beyond harmed.  
Beyond disgusted.  
 
I am disappointed.  
disappointed
in you.  
 
There isn't a fantasy  
where my girl dick
stays up when I  
mouth the words  
 
disappointment.
 
And so I fantasize about my ideal of us
rather than the reality
 
because the reality of you  
rattles chains  
you should have broken  
 
like Scrooge's ghost,  
 
desperate to be heard