You said these lines to me as you stole my pen.
But it's been too long.
Your body, fragile as mine, is done.
It's so funny how much we love the ones that leave us.
Or maybe you disagree.

But I can't see your face through a window.
I can't feel your love until
the knives turn bloody and my body leaves
with all its love,
and I'm left taking care of the situation once again.

The food. The money.
Cowards.
You hide behind the lettuce you won't swallow
and the bills you never pay,
damning the world.

I refuse to quit writing, or to add to the list of nonsensical items
the insecurities of another, when I'd rather just take
a ****ing knife to my heart.

You can take away my love.
The writing is off limits now.

And by the way, darling - truth isn't imagined.
That's the damned point.

Ars Gratia Artis !
Let the voice of creativity never be silenced...
Happy Holidays !

Nice

Best part of this piece for me is "you hide behind the lettuce you won't swallow/and the bills you never pay, /damning the world." Think I recognized some people!

Still loving your creativity..