this thing we called love, it's come to an end, hasn't it?
our wings of wax have melted — i wanted to fall into your arms once more but i crashed and burned instead
did you mean this to happen? when you spit the word out your mouth — the L word — did you mean it? was it fashioned and crafted and built in the inner workings in your heart, shot up and out your teeth?
how i bleed at the thought of your lips on mine. wars were nothing compared to thee and me. our love was a battlefield and the wars were in our mouths and we fought for dominance
when did love turn to hate? when did it go from my spine arching at the touch of your lips, to shivering in disgust at the touch of your hand? flowers no longer blossomed but bruises and scratches, blotches of it like ink splashed in water
the hole that has become of me is littered with corpses of the past. the earth mourns me and the skies cry in my wake
this thing we called love, it's come to an end, hasn't it?
YOU ARE READING
I, Girl
Poetryi am my own god, my own spirit, my own prayer. -- a complete series of 44 poems concerning girlhood, dread, and catholic guilt.
