Plzquietlychoke2death Poem by Maxwell Searcy

Woman. Your hair burns when I look at it.
Honestly, your hair incinerates the very core of my optic nerve and
your voice gets on my next one
and you in a whole are sitting right on top of my last.
You as a hole would be preferable.
You make me want to reenact scenes from Shakespearean tragedies as the protagonist,
You make me sick
You make me tired
You make me sick and tired
And I would stay with you even now,
but I’m just so sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I would shout, but I lost my voice in a 4AM poker match against a one-eyed drifter who smelled faintly like you.
I would say he was you in disguise, but he was much too handsome for that.
I would say that you remind me of this guy I once met, but that would sully the good name of Mr. John Wayne Gacey.
I would give you four hundred and seventy-three dollars to leave town and never come back. I only have four hundred and seventy-two to my name.
And I would work up the courage to bum a buck from someone and use it to pay my leavetownnowdebt to you,
but you’re the only person who would ever lend me a buck,
because you really are my only friend.
And I’ll settle for you any day of the week
that doesn’t end in a “y.”