sweet unbuttoned tea

oh olivia
as if
someone has graced you with
a basket of weeping poppies
confined solely,
to their growing pains

in the hospital hallway
some intern is beaming over you
trying
to withhold her face,from pain.


and julian is making up stories
all of nonsense
trapped inside his glory days.

baby,if this all was one big understatement
it was worth it.

know that
she was her own masterpiece
-you were her weak(point) of she

you trapped,your she.

anyways,bottom line:
the island's yours.

her face reminded you of
this piece of work
hanging in a collective grouping
inside some swanky Saturday night art gallery.

The worst
mixed media you ha
ve
ever seen.

the artist is forcing merlot 

or

sweet southern tea

down your throat
pleading with your brain
to calm down
and drink slow.
you leave happier than you came
your art was better than his anyways
and at least you were never that messed up.

on how we become absent:

we unbutton our

neurotransmitters

slow-ly.