A poem I wrote

Taken

Your eyes -- flitting.

Golden and flitting.

Not giving me

a chance

to see them

for any amount of time.

There in the gut

lies recycled adrenaline

which nauseates and irritates.

Nothing is sacred

when you end

my sentences with

I don't care.

Goosebumps reach

each nook of flesh

and cause the pit

to squirm ill.

You wanted a pickle

I don't care.

(Something's awry

when the pickles

you purchase are

wrapped in plastic

and kept in a shoebox

in the closet

down the hall).

Apathy is a sardonic book

allowing you to speak

but showing your age

and lack of maturity

and lack of responsibility

and lack of respect.

A token of your love

reads apathetic indignity

indigent apathetic

and the words I write will go

unread

because you will glance

or even read

but you

will never understand

I want

the adrenaline

to die

or diminish

but it rests

within

flowing

more boldly

than blood.

~~~Amy Kalvig