I hate him. I made him. I date him. Ultimatums, verbatim, hazy, I made it. Go crazy, so lazy, trade me, been with him all night. Cuddle me now and hold me tight. Our arguments are not light. Do we dare to fight? Screw you! Suck lollipops! Can I make it on top? Fast punch, hard crunch, do I have a hunch? I feel it. Appeal it. Deal fits. Can it be quits? We invested so much time. I remember when I called him mine. Don’t like it. Can’t fight it. I bite it. Ohh, I’m sorry. Are we to be totally lovely? We see, now three and dog equals four. Thought strucken, I shut the door. I want more or I don’t know how to go about it. Wish I were lit. I was trying to get my son back. I used to care about a sack. Too many reasons, sting lesions, demon legion go home. Leave me alone. Krickle krack. Fight back. Meditation is what I lack. I remember a time when I only cared about a snack. Flawless, recognance, I’m too honest. I promise I will be front and ready. I wish our flow was steady. I’d dash around the house to release the confetti. Armageddon, I’m begging. Now shedding different pastels of grey which is outlandish. My past rays of nine phases. Mad, sad, ugly, spit. Anger, fear, steer away from the blahs. Before I claw the silhouette musical notes of my outline, sashaying in the heated desert. Would you like a cocktail with lime or maybe I’m just fine. Now for the final line. I’d actually prefer wine.
“Release”: A poem by Whitney Etheridge
