by Ella

Made your past wife cut off tongues with a rusty knife.
You’re on a rusty bike, on a dusty shelf lays a picture of us.
She keeps them in the freezer, with her cold dead heart.
She cries by the heater because you tore her apart.
She looks back in regret when it’s cold, damp and wet.
But when the sun is bright and shining she simply goes back to hiding
From the cold and bitter warmth.
For the only warmth she has known is that which you gave to her
And all her chances have been blown, are you ever going back to her?
So she looks inside at her empty space, the special place she keeps for you.
And she wonders why you will never cry over the fact you said goodbye.
She’s begging please to her old ceiling that you won’t be a tease but take her back.
The other men? Well, she pretends that they’re half as good as Ben.
She closes her eyes to stop the tears but it’s no suprise that it traps the fears.
And you close your eyes, ten too many beers so it’s no suprise that she disapears.
She thinks of scissors and reveals the blizzards of her mournful, raging temper.
But not too far down there’s a love to be found longing for the sound of your sweet soft whisper.
She rips at her chest hoping yours will be next for all the times you kissed her neck.
Now she’s begging you to stay and she hopes and she prays that your only intentions weren’t to get laid
So you can see;
She’s more confused than a tranny’s shoes trying to decide which restroom to use.
The other girls? they twist and twirl but it makes her hurl when they kiss you.
The other men? Well, she pretends that they’re half as good as Ben was.

Ella is a keen writer, artist, guitarist, singer, poet and photographer from Brisbane, Australia. You can find her work at myspace.com/punishthefurniture.