Peanut Butter, I love you....just not in my ice cream.

I can’t paint your face
In this shallow dark
Four walled room

I can’t hear your words
Though the mechanics in my ears
Work in sync to form vibrations to sound

I don’t know what you stand for
What God you pray to at night
Or books you study

You can be tall
With your head in the clouds
Or short and hollow with substance thin

Your tongue could spill poetry
Or it can cut like knifes
And push through the toughest skin

You might walk real brave
With your chest pushed out
Or hunched over like a coward

But when I see tears of pain
And a collection of scars
When she lifts up her shirt

I spend my time wondering
If my hands are big enough
To fit around your throat

To close off your air ways
Allowing the last pathetic
Careless, unworthy breath to pass your lips

So I can piss on your grave
And recite your headstone engraved:
“In memory of someone not worth remembering”