Meet me beside belden
Written by Khaela Correa
Who knew you enjoyed
a glass of white wine,
whiter than the poorly painted
walls of the slanted roofed shack
you had me pressed against.
A division between you, me, and him
left in the air- never to be addressed
or touched again like the nape
of my neck to your finger tips
caressed like the neck of your
prized guitar, stolen as it-
and I were last summer.
Who knew I’d be the poison
in your veins, as dark and
thick as the image of treacle
displayed on your search history.
An uncrystallised, sticky muck
of a condiment only found
during your next long excursion
to a world far beyond the
embedded in the seats of
the CTA after a rainy day.
I’ve only ever seen you
as a giant, looking down at
those not worthy enough to grow
to your level, though unintentional.
Your seemingly charming
demeanor ceases to exist
and your blood starts to boil
the second your world gets
torn apart like the pages
that contain your latest lyrics
that will be sure to make you millions.
But the award for saddest ending
inevitably goes to me, left more of a
mess than the mashed up tar
from the cigarettes you tossed on
the pavement, discarded and forgotten
in the rain to disintegrate.
View Khaela's personal website at khaelacorrea.carbonmade.com