ETCHING1 min read

Three years and twenty days ago,

Under the endless orange sky,

We hold hands for the one last time –

Grasping our petrified skin, you and I. 

We caress the decay and water it, 

Until, with barrels and guns of pride,

You and I call for war on each other,

In spite of being on the same side. 

Your name came up today

In a conversation with a friend. 

I walk home to an unmade bed

And a few dishes left in the sink. 

Your name, it travels 

Through the thin wintry air,

Through my thoughts 

And their familiar grove,

It knocks at my lips 

Like the touch of cold steel, 

And sitting on my tongue, 

It refuses to move. 

Your name sits on my tongue. 

I try to pull out the letters in it, 

Tear them apart, shed them off,

I pick at them, my teeth and grit. 

But they stick together 

Like a barrel to its gun.

They hold on, 

Obstinate and uncouth, 

And mark their territory 

By etching barbed wires 

Into the raw flesh 

Inside my mouth. 

Your name is not 

Just a word, 

At least in my mouth, 

It never was.

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