New Year

I write so few sentiments across my forehead tattoo the bitch wonder

Off why they opened the door and left it so

Why they pretended they were friendly this holiday season when they were just

More commercials on the television and cat scrawled claws

In my inking skin, fresh and hip

But not there, sometime later

Why they wanted to know who the criminal was and I knew then that

It was always me

Always had been

No needles to heaven just the loose footstool and a bunch of junk

Up the yard now and then, looking for a new owner, I am,

Looking like my life depends on it

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