Faulty Conscience

Confused and obliterated, discombobulated, drunk off love tactics, staring at refrigerator magnets, trying to spot a way down from my serial marble cabinet.

Islands too tall, praying not to fall to my feet, heart skipping a beat every time I attempt to get down.

He leaves. He always leaves.

Puts on a Broadway act of what a friend who happens to be a boy plays.

Reiterating to him that my heart, is not something you can start and not finish. It is a play toy, not a play-toy.

He doesn't listen.

How could he, when he's deaf to his own cries, his own lies, his own despise.

He works.

Works everyday, no goals in place.

Just mocking the face of a black man.

A black man who can't breathe, stuck trying to relieve her, me, relieve me.

Relieve me of my sins.

My amens. My weaknesses.

He does his job 76 percent of the way, leaving just enough to desire, once he retires and retreats back to her.

Her, being his lovely wife.

Woman unaware of the strife she is dealt, woman unaware of the pain I've felt, woman unaware of the lies she has been fed, while laying in his bed, where I was the night before.

I pray that she one day sees the friend that happens to be a boy role he plays, every day, for the past 358 days.

He hasn't been able to spin me back into his web of lies, for my black eyes, are not from his weak fists.

I simply do not leave, because unlike most, including her, I can admit, I'm in love with his dick.

The dick of man, he is.

He hugs me with this sense of strength, that just for the moment I can't let go.

He kisses me with these wet lips, that tell me he kind of cares.

He kind of cares about the person he made me.

The girl who is lost and knows where home is, but has been corrupted so much, she can not even bare the touch of her mother's hand.

The girl who can not stand, because she is still on that island, looking for a way down.

Looking for a way down that doesn't involve getting hurt in the process, that doesn't involve me trusting him to catch me.

I want to breathe. I want to leave. I want to be free.

I am still stuck next to this tree, binding me with eternity.

He smiles and I hate myself.

I hate him.

I hate that I love him.

I hate that I can't let that feeling go.

He hurts me, then he leaves. He always leaves.

He always promises to come back and never does.

He controls me. He loves her. He loves his lovely wife.

I'm just a stand by token, repeated one night stand, taken by the hand to help me off this island.

Hitting the ground with the force that should never be reckoned with, awaking the animal heads impaled in the backyard, freeing the souls of past women, who knew they were wrong from the beginning.

The beginning. The beginning is where I should've stopped.

The beginning is where I should have called the cops.

I was stupid, confused, lusting to be used. I was abused.

I was taken advantage of, by my own stupid choices.

The first night he left, I should've made sure he never came back.