You no longer want their plastic words and expired honey

It doesn’t matter how they did it- with their brightest smiles or perfectly scripted plastic regret

Or if they spoon fed it to you with a nostalgic “here comes the train” choo choo

Pathetic bottom line from their pale lips

They spent peppering over and over again with chalk

And phantomic hurt and disgrace

It can be the most graceful performance you’ve ever seen

Etched so carefully upon every last syllable and whispered alliteration

I’m so sorry

And accompanied by every last finite finishing touches on their strained facial muscles

I hurt you

Hung like a tightrope or a ballerina’s perfect pirouette

I really didn’t mean to though.

Like you meant something when you know you really didn’t

Because there comes a point you’re tired of feeling so bloated from burnt plastic

Swirling and bubbling in the wreck of a home you call your body

Your mind, tired of its own maze it has created

And tired of the infested parasites nestled in its folds

I am tired of the empty words

Bottomless pits of rubbery hypnotic stories

You’re too tired to care of the string of ugly words that sprung involuntarily from the lips

Yet still trained to maintain your diplomatic spirit

Emotionally drained from the pain

But also the nostalgia from all of the memories from past 8 months

And the inkling of a miracle