Flaming Bag Of Shit Poetry From Ohio

We rode off
(why would we ride? Drove off?)
In a cloud of melancholy
(a cloud? why not a cascade?)
I couldn’t understand where love went
(awkwardly phrased – consider ‘didn’t’)
If everything was so amazing
Why didn’t it feel good?
Why couldn’t I feel anything?
(lately an overuse of numbness – boring)
How long is amazing?
How long until it ends?
(too many questions – rhetorical? no one cares)
I tore the carefully prepared note
(what the hell does that mean?)
And scattered the confetti into the fire
It burned like a bag of flaming shit
On someone’s porch
After I rang the doorbell
And ran away
(yeah, overexplained this metaphor, plus vulgar)
Really I just hid
To see what someone would do
That someone was you
(so, you gave an object of your affection a flaming bag of shit out of curiosity? WTF? stupid gobshite)
Was it a flaming bag of shit, or a bag of flaming shit?
Do you even read your own criticisms?
(fine, you have a good point)
I know I had a point
Inside the bag was my heart on fire, and
You stomped on it, and
You put out every flame, and
You kicked it to the curb, literally
(Okay, that was pretty good)
Don’t I know, because I hate one of us
And I fucking love myself
So…

 

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