FREED VERSE

I'm so sick of writing about you.
      You and your double-breasted lies,
       your parasitic promises
       pressing oxides in my brain.
       Their petals write 
       'she loves me not!'
       but really, yes, I do.
       So lie to me again, hit me with your best shot.
       Make even my darkest skies blue.

I'm so sick of writing about you. 

You, whose name I cannot say.
My secret shame and deepest doubt.
       My hopeless devotion from which 
       I still
                can't 
                        rise.

You eat me out and leave me,
Tasteless.

I'm bland with you and dry without.
(at least, that's what you tell me.)
Thank God I have these aspartame daydreams:
      some candy-coating armor
      for my ever-beating heart.  
      
      It pounds, relentless.
      Just like you. 

You and him,
it and you--
interchangeable to me now.
You're both fake sugar rat poison 
                   splaying me out 
                   cracking my skin 
                   leaving me 
                                   empty 
                   to the nth degree.

I'm starting to think you love each other
more than either of you 
love(d) me.