Serial wreckage;
a progression of sorry tales
told by me, to me.
I remember it all so very clearly,
so why the recounts?

And oh god now it's starting fresh;
another girl to creep over the pictures of.
They will turn to blinding, stabbing obscenities
once I've finally done enough
to my hopeless peering through a bent looking glass.

I try to smash my face in.
Disintegrate my sense of the unattainable,
the harrowing fable,
of one who is my world
and stopped spinning just for me.

Someone notify my life that I won't be much for living,
and call off a long search for a missing person
who will never be seen,
or at least not without black eyes, a broken nose
and chipped teeth.
We're only strays.