another love poem

you might think I'm crazy, waiting to tie the straight
jacket around me. I am a romantic, you might think.
too emotional,
entangled with thoughts that
often run like blades through the neck;
red velvet viscosity dripping like shampoo to
disentangle the fragilities of a broken heart.
the red pools flow through the edges on the floor
as the wingless fly through the cathedrals of my mind. they
break through like the deflowering of your first love and their is a riot,
a riot like I've never seen before. the windows break, the races collide, and
the police will never cut through the flesh of these wrists(and neither will I)
There is nothing now, just remains of the broken,
flesh, bones, newspapers, glass
the coherence is like the rubble and there are even pieces of this tin garage. like
Salmon I write under this pressure, the typing
less remorseless
less order
less love to work under and a
woman less than all of that combined.