As I recall, last third of May, was just another passive day

except of course come afternoon, something (awful) had to happen

or I wouldn't have remembered, an apology and the cold:


"truthfully, I never cared, and still I don't and never will

I only got obsessed one time and then somehow followed the rest,

by you I'd instinctively blink and chew your heart until it shrinks

and when you sleep with even breaths, I'd quietly quicken my steps

out of your world and into mine, it's intimate do you not find?

and amusing to me, you see? more than anything you could guess."


So you spat in my chest ink, despite your patience and my heft

And the tight hugs hurt me the most, now that I know they're dust in air

I won't feel so I cannot fathom, only praise, wish and marvel

under stars, overboard, while I'm carried out in cardboards.


And what used to be my heart, pumps boiling water to my veins,

the color red being for the living, could explain why it's so plain

the heat is just me burning up, every second of every day

with every inch of my skin ashes, after April, during May.