Hung Read Red Dreams
Stop talking.
Stop
The noise is too sickening,
cutting through the air-
like a knife through a finger
"God, I can't find anything to wear"
There's a closet, it's full
tags still hanging on their strings
but it's not enough
it's not enough,
she's a high-class bulimic, she
pukes diamond rings
So I start drinking, it's apparent
I'm not fit to be a parent
"Shut up, stop talking"
Stop talking.
Stop
Her hand sliding down my stomach,
my hand sliding up hers
A television screaming in the background,
commercials are the worst
So I start thinking, it's conclusive
the DNA results will be inconclusive
"Stop!"
She's not talking.
She's not
The noise is like gunshots through air
Each fractal contracting, then splitting
My headache is splitting
Bang, bang
Spewing
Gunshots through her ear
Is that weird,
is that weird
Even the mirror is scared
So I start blinking, blinking
flashing lights that reveal
A flash of light re veils
my thoughts, life's plots,
an anecdotal fear
Stop talking.
Stop
They might hear
They might care
Digging ditches
Ticking ditches at the side of the road
wouldn't listen, wouldn't explode
So I filled it with the lies she told
and covered them up with her dead body
So I
I woke up, and I realized
this was all just a dream
or maybe, it was a metaphor
for my lack of self-esteem
So we met at four, at the church we
got married at,
on her finger, the diamond ring
and I brought a gun, and some rope
and some paper to say goodbye
because this time I'd be
sure
She'd stop talking
these hungried red dreams.
