“what is this riot for?”
i think to myself
as fans incite grace across
the stage.
your hand in his.
i’m 4th Row
minding someone who has changed.
you look at him
like you did at me.
is he aware
that I watch
from my seat
‘cos honestly, this ain’t okay.
i’m just sitting,
handcuffed in a chair,
buttoned up
and fenced in by
all your friends
who don’t know it fucking hurts
to watch you
be consumed
by someone who thinks that
he’s yours.
but you’re mine
and this is perdition.
wait, now his hand is stroking