It’s already done, you say,
And my viscera is water
That rushes forth to pour
From carefully hidden holes.
You don’t want to see
The flood come forth
From lips, eyes, nose, skin,
To remember I’m water.
It’s already done, you say.
The oily fire consumes,
Your body its paper,
And boils my water.
A part of you and me,
Happy, won’t bear the burden
You placed on my shoulders.
I’ll wear it as a cloak.
It’s already done, you say,
So I stop the water,
Turn off the tap,
Put on a smile, autopilot.
I’ll rage behind eyes
And you’ll never sense
The silent heaves of mourning
In the darkness.
I should be loving you, but
My insides are water
Leaking, as a burst balloon.
It’s already done.
My little black dress friend- perfect & timeless all in one
Bravo my favorite editor and writer.