Written
it is always said that poets write their feelings
but there are words beneath that don't fade away,
cryptically written in invisible ink,
they are the feelings that a poet can never say.
-anna sluder
C(O2)
When were you going to tell me That I am becoming your carbon dioxide When simply in my presence, at the look at my face Your skin thins of color, until eventually you turn as blue as mold on bread As blue as waters an infant drowns in And you stumble backwards choking on my existence Suffocating on her lack of existence When were you ever going to tell me That I am your carbon dioxide The putrid taste you wring from your tongue With a swish of water, with a gulp of her The forgotten halos of cold breaths wispy and wet Drying and floating away into the icy sky When were you ever going to choose a damn time to tell me That I will always be your carbon dioxide The disposable you will always use like razor blades That are there for the moment to saw the growing filth off And then soon in the trashcan as shunned as your dirt But baby I can cut too So when were you going to tell me you fo...
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