Mascaraed … Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

My heart isn't a lavatory seat, darling.
For you to take a dump on.
My soul isn't a used lemon rind
To squeeze the last few drops from.
My feelings don't count for anything, do they not?
Whatever I do or say, you say is wrong.
So, I'm a square peg.
In a round hole, but here I'm not alone.
At least I am consistent, minute by minute.
Hour upon hour, year after year.

When I say I love you, I mean it, dear.
I wasn't shouting 'Whatever'.
In some heartless masquerade …
I wasn't acting out of character.
Alcohol fuelled out of madness and jealousy
All soppy and utterly weird.
I don't come crying with tears streaming and wild tantrums.
With vacuous promises, I'll change.
Change for the b.etter
Time and time again,
All I have in my pocket is holes and loose change.

I've fought a few too many battles.
Gone far too many rounds
You've floored me to the canvas.
Knocked me out for the count
But this time I'm staying down.
I'm leaving this sawdust ring you've won.
And whatever belt, crown or trophy
Fits you best, please wear it proudly.
Lord knows I know when I'm beat, the victory is yours.
Take the house, the god damn kids.
And have your own last vitriolic dance and words.

I guess I'll just be leaving now, knowing
You've done your worst, and worse is yet to come.
Retribution takes no prisoners, but for now, I'm done.
Playing chess against the devil is not much fun.