It's probably all your scratched and tarnished compliments
That are seizing up my throat and grating my tongue
Every slitting silence you created
Every shard of personality you cut
Across my throat in the most
Ungraciously ungrateful manner.
I placed on you the immunity of
My liquid calm self control
But even that isn't horizontal enough
To stop you sliding down into every spiralling vortex
Of twisted logic, misunderstanding and
your semi-permanent self worth.
(The stars aren't real, they smudge every time you try to touch them.)