Dedication – Part 3

Perhaps it was tinges of crimson
I can’t remember

Your eyes
Your hair
Your frown
I see the pictures in my head and in my hand
I see the shape you left behind

The smoke exhales from your pretty lungs
The taste on your tongue
Cracked lips
Blackened nail tips

Your confessions
The hurt inside your jumbled guts
I listened to you as your heart broke over and over again
Ejaculating those frigid tears
Me, useless

Why can’t I remember you?

It’s not about the beauty
You have that
It’s not about the intelligence
You have that
It’s about what you do not have


…or have you found it in the meantime?

Dedicated to 13

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