Pocket Vendetta

I'll hold a grudge as long as it takes. An heirloom in a jar,

labeled "dust to catalog," your misdeeds on display so far. You left your

keys, you left your lies, you left your fingerprint.

Now I'm mixing memory cocktails, sweet with bitterness. Pocket vendetta, folded and discreet,

a little paper jack you stuffed into every seat. Pocket vendetta, collide in paradox.

I'll haunt you, stoop, and sonnets leave you helplessly unboxed. You thought I'd

be your footnote, a blank on your score sheet, but I'm a chorus in a

crowded room, repeating what you keep. I wrote the lyrics you were