I've always been
The dreaded news
Printed across black
And white paper. The kind
That silly putty stuck to.
But those innocents didn't
Notice what those backwards
Words spelled out. My jealousy.
My internal rage. My promise to
Never be (hungry)--well O'Hara
Committed that crime.
Mine was much worse.
I lost every bit of her
With promises that
All will soon sleep well.
On beds tucked too-tightly
With four bodies of strangers
Strung across. Our civil duty
Was simply to converse. Yet,
It was always taken further.
Those damn innocents forget
The backwards letters that spell
Out all of my crimes. Perhaps,
They aren't as dreadful backwards.
My abuse and neglect was not
The worst crime. After all, who
Truly reads backwards words. Em fo lla .
flesym tsol I.