Moratoria


Could I send you
my riven missive,
my acid prose waiting
for you, stealing
cold breath in rivulets

Would I contort
your face in beautiful
incomprehension,

my beautiful adversary

crush that burgeoning ego
with a deftly barbed phrase
and savor your
shattering
beating betrayal

and the flood of numbness
afterward

God, I miss you.

Miss you, need you
Hate needing
you.

But I can't hate you
Damn
you
And your crystalline trust,
Your corrosive need of me

Which is some sick irony
Since you don't need
me anymore,
my sweet nemesis

and bitterness scrapes
the soft parts out after awhile,
the fine-toothed scavenger,
leaving bleached malice
to desiccate

in your darkness
sometimes you're nothing
but meat





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