Washing Machine

I am a washing machine.
Sloshing thoughts clean.
They go round and round turning my face green.
Instead of cloths there's thoughts of what was and what could have been.
Thoughts of him are like detergent.
Mix it with water and foam will emerge and
With nowhere to go it heads for my mouth now I'm concerned and
my tongue starts to burn and
now I'm foaming at the mouth.
Next thing you know I'm collapsing down south.
My body start to seizure. He says "I wouldn't want to be her".
My face turns greener.
His new girl "doesn't see her".
If only I could reach her. My fingers would brush her skin turning me into a creature.
I would attack her, sink my fangs in deeper
and the I would eat her.
Now that would teach her
not to mess with my man. She was on my land.
Touching my sand.
You do understand right? This is not what I planned.
I just could withstand the urges.
The surges.