Receding, Reconciliation

This prompt was to deconstruct a song by listening to it and emulating the movement, somehow, in poetry. The song I chose, as abstract as it might be to this poem, was Garbage’s “When I Grow Up” Link.

 

Receding, Reconciliation

 

Raging, perhaps, about the blisters,

the fingers torn raw as they scratch

and claw against another self-sealed box

 

in yet another bout of autoerotic asphyxiation

gone wrong. As though it might go right

to the edge of chaos: your domain. No,

 

ours. I am complicit; I see that,

with my own childish insecurity –

You were drunk, but you called me a 10

 

and the drag queen said, “How generous of you

to think of him that way.” And I blamed you,

unfairly, so we slept separate for ugly reasons.

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