Shooting Star in a Bucket of Pig’s Blood

The following is very melodramatic and doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and I’m not particularly sure what I was thinking when I wrote it.  but have at it. 

i wrote a poem but it references large amounts of dirty laundry that i can’t air because you’d die from the stench. There’s a kind of stupid metaphor for you.  Anyways i couldn’t post it so i thought i would post the last part, but ultimately couldn’t do that either.  It makes me cry to read it.
BASICALLY!  can’t post poem, too personal, makes me cry, it’d make him cry too, but probably not anyone else, anyone else would understand that I used to be

There is a sideshow oddity
two heads, bearded lady
sitting quietly in a chair
(not sure if you’re seeing this)
so I’ll pretend
I can’t

even though this person
this chair-dweller
is all I think about
every day
most nights
when I can’t fall back to sleep and
a lonely choked miasma
threatens to spill out from under the bed

There! wrote that one completely out of the blue and the best part is it doesn’t make me cry.  It just makes me picture a bearded lady with two heads.  Also it makes me think of A Series of Unfortunate Events. 

I shall title it “Elephant in the Room”

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