There’s venom boiling in my bowels; I can’t buy a new stomach at the grocery market

There’s a black fire burning inside my lungs; I can’t call the firefighters to save my belongings from being forgotten

I’m breathing out black smoke and the bitter taste of stale ash at the back of my throat does not let me forget of your rotten, long gone love; I can never clean the wound clean enough

without damaging it further

Toxic, Acid words beg to be spilled out

in such a suffocating throaty voice,

To whisper that I’m not enough

You were the eagle, I was the dove

You dance around my corpse (I can never unsee your ghost)

and never thought such a motherly behavior could hide such a nasty betrayal

Or worse:

A pattern. (Why did you kill in my name my most beautiful flowers?)

Because I can never run from you far enough, and if you wanted to save me just for the show, then you surely had the laugh off of it.

I’ll let you know

You broke me down

You’ve bent me all the way to the ground,

to play the heroine,

but in my wounds, you threw salt

And now any other mouth I kiss tastes like leftover love from yours.

Your absence is definitely something I couldn’t live without.


Alana Marroquim, Jul. 2017