by suicidallyanonymous

Tomorrow you’ll follow a textbook
because you’ve lost your map
somewhere between atheism
and Christianity.

Soon they’ll know how brittle you are,
before they trade wishbones
for shooting stars and black cats;
when their clothespin fingers
press into your larynx.
You’re just too damned superstitious.

Syllables committed suicide today,
smashing into brick walls, muted.
All the while you’re slipping pebbles
into airbag lungs,
with vodka salutations*
tattooed on your knuckles,
because you need to be reminded
to greet your ghosts.

Your kiss turned my blood to silk,
but you scarred my wrists with razor lips
and froze my fingers;
tendons tore, turning to porcelain.

Three little words say too much,
I can’t bear the sincerity
of silver-linings and accidental bruises.

You were acne and hiccups,
and back then I only read braille
-it emphasized the idea of us.

Freckled with the palpable closeness
of your regret,
you’ve stopped noticing, consumed
in your recitations of propaganda.
I’m sorry I wasn’t coordinated enough
to return your stutter.

You used to binge
on the incoming seconds
as if you craved the expletives
I had forbidden you to exhale;
you were rotting in silent profanity.

I secretly enjoyed abusing you.


2 Comments to “Exhale”

  1. VERY strong and eerily seductive !

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