Words from Inside My Head

She was suffocating my soul.

The pillow used was made of ice,

frozen ice on my lips melted to salt,

lingering drops tickling my chin,

tasting of sin sparkling, trickling, pinching my nostrils,

crackling as it hit and broke my heart open.

When done, I peeled it open like a screaming onion

that farted and flew away.

It was said James Laidley had lived and died right here

in Yellow Springs, Ohio,

but he’d never been here;

James was still alive,

at least that’s what was rumored; it may have been

a lie, if it mattered at all.

The point really is, who gives a flying f*ck?

If he had been born here, history would have been

different from what it was

and he would have been president today.

Truth is, all things come to pass,

so no one knows, for sure.

A stormy relationship of shallow foolishness

orchestrated a short ending to it all.

Nighttime digging unearthed an artfully well-lit grave.

After all of this, she hid her hefty hips

inside her heart, and a younger Annie had had enough

leaving the room in a huff.

It wasn’t over, there were times it all made sense,

in review, as if they had written it down and

planned it out before, when there was no proof

they had, probably because

of the long and laughing umbrella

someone had left behind. No one could prove it

without having seen it before it had happened,

unless, of course, they’d paid a relative to

sing a song written about it.

Pour favor mon ami;

That was the umbrella crying for mercy.

If only she’d lifted that icy pillow from

the essence of my soul,

the ending would have been

so much better.

(this came from doing an exercise –
and I don’t know what it means. If you
think you do, leave a comment!)