by Anna Olivia Böke, October 2017


You’re the salt

on a pretzel

thirst quenching, unasked for

 Stop asking for more!


Your categorial imperative,

your ranting unhinged

You just make me cringe

Your pseudo-intellectual passive

making me shiver

I can’t escape the question:

Cheap thrill or thriller?


As Helter Skelter as it began

it is over again

phone drowning in calls

when I’m alone at last

Though I don’t pick up

you talk way to fast


You’re the smell

of burnt coffee in the morning

useless, still yawning


Like salty-sweet popcorn

you make me tick

too much, I’ll be sick


And you were never gonna fit

into my world

I am new, ’bout to get newer

Wish I had cut you off sooner

Now I know for sure

that this can’t go on

Please be gone!


You may also like

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *