Mezza Morta

 I'm devolving dangerously into another downward spiral. 

Your long-suffering sighs spin me 

out of control. Hostility hangs in the air,

heavy, like funeral flowers and putrefaction.

Unfiltered, unrelentingly emanating

from your bower of bullshit,

and no Guyon in sight to burn that shit to the ground.

Your help always came with strings,

and you expect to hold the control,

to make me dance

until I'm wooden

just like you

until I'm only half-alive

just like you

Mezza Morta

just.

like.

you.

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