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
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