I shudder to recall your smooth hands,
Seeing them gently, slowly caress.
Hearing the unbecoming sounds,
Accompanying your each and every press.
The way you looked at my rival,
Your eyes full of fire for him,
He shakes your leg, you beg to be excused.
You bend over backwards to his whim.
I hear you whisper in his ear,
Lights burning low so I can sleep,
But the blackness before my eyes,
Stems from the venom in which I steep.
My patience, thin and ragged from abuse,
Frayed nerves come loose and burn out.
I crush your lover between my hands,
Wild-eyed I look to you and I shout,
"You speak to me only through him,
I'm sick of him, of you, of all this crap!
Your true love is dead by my hand.
Is there a 'Fix My Crushed Iphone' app?!"
Author notes
I don't like phones...
A contest entry
- Coming Second by georgie.
700 points, ended August 22, 5 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
lol... know the feeling... i hate my husbands phone too... explains why he spends 1/2 hour in the toilet lol. a really good write,
hugs,
georgie,
xxx
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