Spoiled milk

There’s nothing I want more than to chew you up until my teeth grind you to paste, spit you out and glue back together the remnants of what we once were before you decided we no longer fit. You tossed me aside like a ratted pair of “maybe one day I’ll wear this again” jeans with grass stained knees, holes the size of the ones you left in my gut. The doctors swore hot Cheetos would eat my stomach lining but it’s nothing compared to the flaming crunch in my spine, permanently twisted. Like a contortionist I forced myself into compact boxes for you to stand on as I lifted you higher, placing your needs on a pedestal of my own creation, the one you pretended you didn’t adore. You feigned humility as if you weren’t starved for the power of attention. My nose bleeds red, I make believe I am a clown for your amusement, hoping my performance will be worthy of a standing ovation. I kept my head lowered, a perpetual bow, waiting for you to finally throw flowers at my feet, instead I’m left with the weeds you never wanted, the scraps you decided were enough for me.