Oh Theo Yellow

a craptastic attempt at disguising my own teenaged s**t behind a terrible rearrangement of the syllables in "othello". gaaaaahhhhhh

Green bed. Dry wig. Limp cheek. 

Stirring solidities, making my demise,

Boiling, brewing, soiling, stewing. 

I create the burn to burn your arm,

The ligaments you used to spite me with.

Truth be this, or truth be that; 

I am dictated by the silver mite in

My spying cells, they hiss my hatred. 

I oblige. Leaping like print onto skin,

You become one of my unstirred mouthless.

I say it like it is, like a spell:

Truth be told, you are no wrong,

Did no wrong, Jesus could not wrong the 

F**k out of what you did to me. 

You grew in ways I could not, forget a lot,

Truth be told, you grew reddest in the

Riper places than I could dream,

Softer in the open spaces, brasher in

The daring races. The silver mite,

The silver mate, the only male to love me;

My one to your ten. With love 

A more choleric bruise than your ten,

Indeed. You're dead. Dead and Gone.

They say it real, reel it like yarn on your

Blouse, your imperfected blouse. Arouse, arouse.

Everything you did was amber and middle and 

You did it so it boasted perfection,

Your lies, your lies, your sweet sleep, your dream.

May they be the end of what I boasted in

Solitary mediocrity. May I boast the loudest s**t 

You ever heard in all your cat-ears, dreaming baby deer.