Clay and Play-doh monsters

I took a piece of you, and rolled it into clay.
You said you felt fine, but you were all curves and round; no body.
So I made something that you could never see.
The corner of your obtuse mouth was dry and dirty;
And while I fed my diseased arm to the clay and play-doh monsters,
You were devising a plan for a getaway, whilst remaining unperturbed,
To fool me into a false sense of a so-called 'security'.
It was your last chance to reason with me;
You chose to play hide-and-seek with my demons.
I said "Show me your beginnings and sources"
Unsuspecting you were going to pull out the tomato and barbeque,
And throw in the honey mustard.
I became a sandwich of excuses.
You said I was a collage,
But, oh I was sandwich,
Just two pickles short.

Should I have taken you to the dog-house?
A museum of bitches,
That played in symphony as if they were on their death-bed,
Until you, the most gracious and holy one
Wanted to smite them.
Their music screeching and scraping your eardrums raw.
You with the power,
You couldn't make me into clay,
Roles reversed; I made something you couldn't see
But you knew the damage I could do,
And the conversation turned dry and dirty,
As you lead the army of seduction with your vulgar vocabulary.
You were transparent; I saw right through to the heart,
Blood-thirsty heart.
I filled the air with smoke, and watch your lungs rot,
As I laughed with contempt.
But oh, I was a sandwich.
Between the disintegrating you and the monolith
Underneath the silent suburban stars
The sandwich became stale; the honey mustard bitter.
So I nourished the bitches in the doghouse,
With your crumbling yet curved and circular body.
They shouldn’t gnaw on my diseased arm,
It's too dry and dirty.
But for the clay and play-doh monsters...