Fodder

Fodder


I know he's in there,
Head bent over his ragged notebook
Pencil flying
Letting lose his inner turmoil
Or inner angst

Fucking poets.

I'll bet my name is nowhere
On those many scribbled pages.
And if it is,
If it really is,
I'm sure I play the tormentor.

Never mind the truth.
Never mind his lies, his wounding of
My heart.

Or how I'm standing in the rain,
Neon shining off my face,
Knowing he's in there sucking off our
Ended passion
For sympathy, and in that,
Ecstasy.

I'm only fodder for a lyrical vampire.