Your love is like a winding sheet,
a cancer in the mouth,
a wound filled with fire.
Every time you speak my name
something beautiful withers and dies,
on the spiraling vine of the universe.
Your voice is a coagulation,
your face is curdled milk,
your cunt is a craggy cove of death.
The future demands your absence,
like a star that folds in on itself
and destroys the neighboring light.
You hate me, but your hatred is like a dagger
in the heart of a shadow,
a shadow cast from your own mind.
When you remove that blade from the glass
of the dark and dirtied floor,
you’ll find you’ve been stabbing yourself
instead of someone else
this entire time, and wonder
how you ever blamed the darkness.