"Something on my Psyche" by Brianna Simmons
I saw Cupid eating dumplings at the bar
I’d seen him around here before shit went down
back home, when I thought love might stick around
for longer than a one-night stand
He just kept on eating when I sat down beside him
I said, Can I tell you something that’s been weighing on my
Psyche, won’t you come back to me
I know I’m the one that ran away
but you should know there’s nothing melted
beyond repair with us, don’t you know?
that nothing can compare to us
Cupid just kept on eating,
The tip-tap of chopsticks on the edge
Enough to match a heartbeat he’d struck
too many times, heartstrings about worn out
from everything he’s been peddling ‘round here
And when he finished, he said,
Can I tell you something that’s been weighing on my,
Psyche won’t touch me no more, not like she used to
Back when it was only us, and my goddamn mother
didn’t hover so much, Psyche, oh Psyche, she says
She’s gonna leave me with my mother and I yell and
Scream don’t go, babe, don’t go
I see she’s struck a nerve, something too deep to sew up
with bowstring thread, he’s barely hanging on
Gripping the chopsticks enough to bend ‘em
Like he’s itching to shoot somebody, anybody
Any body with a heart, I’m glad mine left a long time ago
She left a long time ago
I order more dumplings and finally his grip on the chopsticks
softens like candle wax, they slip back into the empty bowl
And shit, the wax is running from his eyes
He uses a stained napkin to wipe it up and we eat
whatever this shitty place’ll give us,
Taking anything, they’ll give us
Brianna Simmons is a graduate of the Susquehanna University Creative Writing program. A fan of Frankenstein, she stitches her works of fiction and poetry together until they can’t be separated. She loves the intricacies of human cultures and mythologies and aims to learn while she writes.
Instagram: bsmithy29
Twitter: bns_and_Bris
Related Posts
See AllWe pour shampoo into Norah’s hot tub, well, not her hot tub, her parents’ hot tub, but we’re the ones using it, and we want bubbles. It takes a lot to overcome the chemical treatments, but eventually
amanda palmer presents to me a man o' war where my face should be pink-brained siphonophore water pocket dry popped dead upon the sand where she beached me white and blacked like weimar and worri
A chill wraps itself around my neck and needles make a knot inside my right fist. The right joint always raised red flags, even when I chose to chalk it up to acidic butterflies, especially on the nig