Bored of death.
You brought the
dark with you.

Bones, glued
with flesh, brittle
to the touch

from abuse.
The shards
sting when they shatter.

There is no
torture
like—having

the pieces of
you
crumble down my throat.

Do you see me?
When your eyes
sink into

the back of your mind,
do you only see
yourself?

You didn’t know
a grave
was brightest before

the body.
I could’ve told you, but
you visited alone.

Is this why the friction
of my concern
makes your skin smolder?

You left meat—
Enough
For my feasts.

Nourished,
I left you bare.
Bones to be picked at

by other beasts.
Until you fell asleep—
cradled in the maw.

Hoşça kal,
my dear.

Inspired by Sylvia Plath’s “Lady Lazarus”

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