notorious,
lonely
and despondent
her existence was a patchwork of broken keys and sour goodbyes.
her call list filled with the yellowing bruises left by knuckles in the skin.
nuisance.
an itching scar of carelessness
that scratch on the mahogany.
she was the aqualine in the family genus
delicate,
protruding,
mostly unwanted.
the dearest rafflesia.
to everyone else, her scent was of bitter, biting fury.
salty like tears long soaked in skin.
but fuck I loved her to death.
I locked her inside the warmth of my ribcage,
and let her die in peace.
YOU ARE READING
weeds.
Poetrysometimes you need to return to the soil to feel the triumph of what once grew.
