Existent

Selfish

I realized right there,

in the brief pause between a step,

the enclosure of time between an inhale and exhale of

toxic breath,

that I was merely the thorn on you,

the rose, 

that I was not the sun but the heat,

not the sea but the salt contained that made it

undrinkable,

insufferable,

I was a drug for you, 

and I cared enough to admit it, 

I would turn your lungs to an eerie black tar, 

and clog your veins,

causing not an ounce of air,

to reach your brain,

your heart would freeze over, until finally

it collapsed,

darling I offered you nothing more than death could,

and yet you carved your name,

inside the stone,

a grave marked murdered, 

by a foolish love.