Post by playboymommy on Oct 14, 2006 14:57:00 GMT -5
I don't know what else do to with it. Soooo, if you don't mind lending me a hand. 
Aftertastes
Banana peels slip you to th ground
and your nose begins to bleed.
I have tissues but no patience
for aftertastes, and yours is stronger than Bacchus’s
and tastes like onions.
I used to love the way you smelled
except the fairy dust quickly turned to dust pan feelings,
and despite their lightness they fucking hurt.
You used to leave an imprint
in my mind, except you washed it off
when you sent that wave of indifference on me.
The memory I have of you isn't so much filed away
as it flies away.
I use a tissue to blow my own nose
and deposit it into the nearest bin
while passing you, still on the ground.
The tissue is released from my hand
without me taking notice.
You’re mistaken for a beggar
and someone decides you’re worth a dollar.
Your words used to etch themselves onto my skin
like young children draw on each other, giggling because it tickles.
Your meanings didn’t poison my skin then,
except they began to
like a teenager with a razor:
she carefully cuts her skin.
I hope your pants split open on a crowded street
and all of your embarrassing secrets are fantastically illuminated.
This cold infects my mouth
and suddenly even you don’t have an aftertaste.
Aftertastes
Banana peels slip you to th ground
and your nose begins to bleed.
I have tissues but no patience
for aftertastes, and yours is stronger than Bacchus’s
and tastes like onions.
I used to love the way you smelled
except the fairy dust quickly turned to dust pan feelings,
and despite their lightness they fucking hurt.
You used to leave an imprint
in my mind, except you washed it off
when you sent that wave of indifference on me.
The memory I have of you isn't so much filed away
as it flies away.
I use a tissue to blow my own nose
and deposit it into the nearest bin
while passing you, still on the ground.
The tissue is released from my hand
without me taking notice.
You’re mistaken for a beggar
and someone decides you’re worth a dollar.
Your words used to etch themselves onto my skin
like young children draw on each other, giggling because it tickles.
Your meanings didn’t poison my skin then,
except they began to
like a teenager with a razor:
she carefully cuts her skin.
I hope your pants split open on a crowded street
and all of your embarrassing secrets are fantastically illuminated.
This cold infects my mouth
and suddenly even you don’t have an aftertaste.
But you really did illustrate some very interesting images. The word choices are nice. I can't really make any suggestions. 
