17, Still Can't Swim

two

eulogies seem like a slow burn greek tragedy.

as you speak you slice half of your left ventricle chamber down to your aortic valve. then, if you hit just by the spot with mercy precision, loosely severing the atrium on the right. the blade was rusty and double-ended so it should bleed you the same way how a devil shakes your hand in hell.

you are a cunning woman, aren't you? you made me go to church for the first time and it was the day of your funeral.

i would be lying if i said i worship grieving. why else would i head for the hills before speaking my elegy in front of a sea of black and ten thousand white lilies?

don’t worry, we’re millions of moons away, but you only need to hear one of my star-numbered sins.

i wish i taught you how to swim.

๓.
delilah