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(disclaimer: I don't often write poetry, but the mood was right.)


Spiked with critics, mine
Is the throat you wish for.
When I scream, you’ll pray
For the power to speak.

Sweat, sweet sweat
Dripping victory on the mat: mine.
it’s simple
To ask for my hand

Instead you’re stupid
Clumsy
Lazy
Ugly
Among more tasteless ways I
Could describe you best.

My bad breath beating you
Teaching you
Nothing.
You deserve
Nothing.

Wet with remorse. Yours.
All yours. Mine
is the throat you’ll wish for
When you’re screaming for me
To stop.