Hunter V. IIII
You there, other woman, twirl of my destruction, link nails and come die with me. I dyed my hair brown to be like you, like he liked. It hangs in knots of loss that kiss down my spine.
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodluck.
Tricky little reminders of the love I never felt.
I never felt a lot of things.
I walk these pink city streets, eternal and damned twilight snagged on tongues of rain.
I smile as I order our coffees.
I rarely speak anymore. My voice an unpleasant surprise.
He grew fists around my throat. Tightening and tightening until all was left was handfuls of screams.
I threw one coffee in the trash, burnt my lips on the other.
Now I don’t talk at all.
I skip dinner. I skipped the spoiled affair. I skip the lobby, the bar, the lusting men with their room keys dangling from their overworn pockets.
My stupid new candy-red heels hover on our hotel room threshold; a perfectly comfortable and catered emptiness.
It’s far too easy to believe in everything you can’t see, and that won’t see you.
The hero’s sword twists in my gut, binding it with lead and candy-lies; crisp, shattered and sweet.
I can’t sleep here. I can’t be here. I can’t leave here.
This dreadful love.
I’m not sure why I came.
Arrive to leave.
His habits included drink, women and boredom.
And you? You’re a pretty fatality dressed in sky blue flowers.
If I was him, I would love you too.
For a time, all three of us were blind passion and French kisses in late night taxis.
Now you watch me from the shore as I bloom in blushing sinking shadows, his pretty little shame.
Know your place.
He’s going to come for you, too.
And here we go again.