grave letters ✓

03

your name- micah; the one who resembles god.

but that noxious cancer stick between your fine lips planting tumor cells upon your rotting ribs and belladonnas in the crevices of your decaying canines- your make pretend clique of ken dolls and fraud barbies in their drenched laps- you walked in fine lines with carignan hopes that the black dahlias underneath your porcelain eyes won't rupture into teardrops of botulinum upon your knife-edged cheekbones and gucci hearts.

no, dearest micah- you were anything but a good god; with cursed lilac skies on the crook of your neck and wine wounds upon your pretty knuckles from when they planted sweet kisses across my salt-drenched face.

oh, micah, you handsome devil- you arrogant god; would you be so kind as to sing lemonized lullabies to the vodka-stained anemones behind my raspberry ears? seventeen reasons why you shoved me into concrete corners and cerulean lockers like i was a sack of broken bones and weathering pillars.

with your vanilla-scented ego and capital a letter jackets- why won't you tell me why you broke my little heart?

you think you look so strapping with my bleeding eyeballs in the palm of your greek hands- then why did you summon me with those cursed strings tethered around your cracked joints- on my scraped knees and beseeching lips; why did you tell me i could be pretty if i got rid of those ugly juniper glasses?

breaking my nose won't make me fall in love with you- silly boy. now i piss on your grave with remorseless chortles and those ugly glasses still sitting on the bridge of my almond-freckled nose.