The Criminal Obsession
Wish, wish, wish, of being suicide rich, rich, rich.
No older than forty years in age, secluded from vibrant
reds and greens and suited in all beige, last days of
Rhetorical reasoning in a depressed stage. The clock
is accelerated as it goes tick, tick, tick, in her mind
the cellulite is overwhelming and she could use an
eyebrow lift, the tummy tuck procedure makes her
stomach sick, sick, sick, but she will do anything to
make that pair of pants fit. Abused in twenty years
of relationship and displacement of false hope, she
used to jump high, but being called ugly sank her
boat. The folds of skin and stretch marks of birth
made not only the arthritic pain worse but it made
her eyes hurt, to watch scales tip and all lightweight
chairs go on red alert.
It was just a normal day, going like anything else
and she saw that young guy that would make her
heart melt, and like that – snap she was twenty
years old again without telepathic help. She would approach
that handsome blonde man in the cowboy boots and
thick leather belt, and what she felt was something greater
than ever, to the extensive age she was no longer bound to
the tether. When she confronted his beauty he walked away,
whatever. She wasn’t being blown off, it was just bad weather.
Wish, wish, wish, of being suicide rich, rich, rich.
Hard scrrrruubbbs of beauty soap somehow
finding the beauty afloat.
Sudsy hope cascaded into a bloody moat,
her skin was raw and her eyes were closed.
Poooosssseeeed. Ready for the most and receiving
the least, The Beauty Beast conniving to make the
Ugly eras cease. Erosion of the subtle cuteness,
verge beauty on loose.
Catherine Johnson, you left me, me, me
Because you were so insecure,
My love true and pure,
And yours blemished and
uncured.
You are not yourself anymore.
I loved you before. But you killed
your budget trying to love yourself.
Rest now, you need it.
