TMBMT 's Poetry - "Get Over It"
The Fatal Turn
Get Over It
Your Eternal Reward
Page 2

Get Over it

Life is a curse.
If I think hard enough
I can create an acceptable excuse
for putting rat poison in my family's spaghetti sauce.

One white noodle blotched with red,
excited by the aphrodisiac but not showing it--
Nothing in the air but the smell of formaldehyde
and the sound of sinews ripping.
The snipped nerve of reason
patiently awaits its dissection.

Out of nowhere,
the hot smell of salty flesh
hits my tongue with the lingering
sound of Misty's shattered look.
My thoughts come crashing back, when
Mrs. Hayla Parker, Honors English 10,
looks up from her papers.
That couldn't really have happened.

Life can be good.
Only it never is, and it probably never will be.

"Remember: Call once and leave a message."
I heard him alright. Yes sir.
He jumped out of the phone and hit me
straight in the nose with that one.
(Mrs. Parker can't touch this memory.)
One day I will see him again.
After cursèd noodles bring my end.

Life will improve when I die.
C'est dommage! But why?
Couldn't that needle have told me?
I made a mistake.

The red stained pasta slides down my throat
with the pleasing taste of crushed tomatoes and tainted garlic.

The Fatal Turn
Get Over It
Your Eternal Reward
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