Ending the cycle

This old and rusty tongue,

The one that made her come

Out from all the darkness;

And left her in space for days,

Heartsunk and drunk – a dirty haze;

Eyes moving, stareless.                   

This love has no life,

It chose an unborn wife,

 A mess of bones, twisted;

Chained to his house and his name,

Fingers pressed on her brain;

Lips shut by a fist.

He is the lover’s joke,

Written from lines of coke,

Desireless with each sniff;

As the blood drips old,

A burning cold

Dissolves his mind into a myth.

She saw the darkened nights,

The day she chose to fight

Out from the water, trembling;

She then turns back to him

Takes the blade to the skin

he’s dripping in. 

Just clothes and broken bones,

Covered by dirt and stones

As she finally buries him;

She paints the purple on her face,

Standing, not a hair out of place,

And waits for life to begin.

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