I’m not even sure why I wrote it

Like a strangled scream stuck in my throat it

Should have never been written, but

The words climb out of my soul unbidden

Forming phrases and claws…

And who would want to pen this script?

Blame the head or blame the heart

They are both being whipped,

Beaten to release

Something that rhymes with

Love and faith and peace…

Just below the art of the tattoo

Smooth steel slides into skin.

An incision.

Do not subject your eyes to any more of this, you

Can only get so close to a whore who won’t kiss you.

Like your favorite batter at the plate

Swinging at the third strike;

If you do not slow down or wait

You may be singing a song you won’t like.

Because you cannot reach through the screen

And change the words and letters back

To something a little less obscene

Something not written by a hack.

A revision.

Do not say you like it or leave a comment

We’ll never be able to come to an agreement.

Just put the paper down;

Close the window with a click…

(I did not mean to make you frown,

Did not mean to make you sick.)

You had hoped to find a friend in this town,

But you are a candle without a wick.

If you tear up this page with a promise,

Then I will leave the ink in cement,

Buried in multiple layers of sediment:

Similes and metaphors and malicious intent.

Go read a different poem or another’s prose.

Get a tattoo of your lover’s name,

Or tweetie bird, or a rose.

Make the choice to leave me reeling,

And do not come back

Or try to find these lines.

Your eyes are not blind, just unseeing.

A decision.

by Jefferson Brian Holbrook