I hate you.

People say that is cruel

but they don’t know cruelty

This

Is.

THIS

IS.

The flailing, inebriated fingers

Whip! Lash! Furl and tear

Through fresh flesh of old.

Old heart.  Old mind.

Old hopes.  Broken… skin.

Hope is the worst.

The devil I never believed in

Moved in.

Incrementally,

Irrevocably replacing you:

My old, forgotten love.

Love?!

The acrid liquid diet the remnant belch of that humanity…

Besides the tears

And smears of shit.

But I am now immune.

You have knocked the sense into me.

T h w a c k

So now?

GET OUT.

And when you die, I will mourn only the lateness of the hour.

For I have run out of ways to grieve for you.

And this new, old fractured woman

Rises and Roars.

At last.

© Wendy Dickinson 2017