Psyche Rapport

Washing your saturated pillowcase, drunk with your sweat,
A deliberate innacuracy of the stated substance. We know.
You hoped your red eyes and salty cheeks would be disregarded,

Didn’t you?

You’ve painted pillowcases and I’ve destroyed the evidence,
Hands behind my back with a smirk, back against the washer,
Devouring the squalls coming from within it’s prison walls.
But sweat does not cry.

I’ve listened to you lie to yourself in the mirror’s truth.
When the Gin just wouldn’t justify the joke that was you.
When both of us have seen your blood soaked sleeve so somber,

I never wept.

You told me your cuts was just your skin smiling at me.
I would say nothing as you basked in your squaled abode,
Blood on my hands, I picked your heart up off of the floor
And nailed it back onto your sleeve.

We would finally lie beside one another, vocalizing,
Mutual self indulgence, We laughed loud and then
Your Mother opened the door, looked around and asked you,
“Honey, who are you talking to?”

-Violetta Alexis