48
two poems by isaiah vianese
horror movie
A younger version of myself
runs after a boy
who does not love me.
I am grotesque—
sweat-drenched,
tears streaking my face,
yelling, "What are you doing?"
He morphs into his own monster.
"I'll do it," he says,
while his ex-girlfriend and I
pound on the bathroom door.
The rest is falling action—
"I'm sorry" and "We need a break"—
before credits roll:
Starring the numb and confused.
Thanking the state of Missouri.
Lovers were harmed
in the making of this movie,
but not beyond repair.
What is broken mends.
We pray for a sequel.