Catfish

Catfish

 

When you said I love you

Did you know

That love was two slices of bread

In a make-believe sandwich

And that sandwich would become a wall

The walls of a prison we built

With the meats and cheeses, lettuce, tomato

All of the fixings of lies

Imagination of what it’s supposed to be 

Like the mayonnaise of regret

And a closed fist in the indian giver of our own expectation

What if it?

How could you?

The bread – long stale

Became a house, kids and job

A cell though my sandwich heart is full

 

My mind is an attic

In the house party that I

Forgot I was never invited 

to

I didn’t tell you about

All the different people 

You’d meet

That one is on drugs

She speaks backwards and only on Tuesdays

Do not touch that one’s feet

And whatever you do, we don’t talk about

What’s in

The attic

It’s like that Billy Joel Song

Nobody started the fires

But the world’s been turning and my

Coffee’s frozen

 

…..

 

Not frozen, just cold

My coffee cup soul

A mug where I poured my hopes and dreams in

I set it down over there

I’m sure

But I got sidetracked on the way

With the laundry

There were kids and invisible sandwiches

Prisons and house party fires

And I know that goddamn cup

Is somewhere too

I can feel its sweet kiss

Grow colder

With every reason

I find not to find it 

 

And there you are, 2 slices of bread and your arms

Meats and cheeses of I love you

Lettuce tomato fixings of what could be

The mayonnaise of regret

Where my attic caught fire 

While my coffee cup dreams so cold

And someday I’ll remember

That the only way it worked

Is when

I just drink

The fucking coffee first

And leave the rest to the force

That made the sandwiches and prisons

The focus and force

That’s me and you


Invisible bread-like pronouns made up like all this I and you

Literal prisons when we confuse saying love with what we don’t do

5 thoughts on “Catfish

Add yours

    1. Thank you ❤️❤️ you made me smile my sweet sister.

      I was meditating and I heard this so I wrote it. I think more often I’m just transcribing the wind. Just like you, though you paint the world with a prettier pen than me.

      Liked by 1 person

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