I'm too afraid
To utter your name
It slips off my tongue far too smoothly for all of the rough anger I bear inside.
If my words were knives
I'd sever you
I'd rip holes in the wasted reality you sold
I'd cut my eyes out before I had the chance to lay them on you
But no burning rage can burn the past
So instead, I burn your memory
In photographs
And worn out boots
And books you won't see again
Once you left
Everything was washed clean
Every burnt out candle removed around the altar I was enslaved to worship
Every lie turned over and sent far away from anyone who could believe.
This one's not poetic
I don't write for you,
because I don't feel for you.
- z. gamieldien.
