flower of the grave looked at me before crying for help. it was dying and I stayed there screaming, because I was dying too. bloody hands and blind eyes as I crawled back to the grave of yours. once I would’ve ran to you, but I am weak and you fly over my head laughing. I wish I was dead, as I looked over my shoulder to see that someone was stealing my useless legs. I thought about the time, hard street, cold weather and my body covered with sperm. if anything like this happens again I know, I have to call it rape. but it’s too easy, too short. the pain remains and the word disappears as the innocence once I held dear. sunshine, on anyone but me. I called it fate as I heard my mother screaming my name. the grave of yours is still full of bones—remains of what I wanted inside of me forever. the flower wiped away its tears and I saw you, landing on my back as to give me your legs made by mistakes and words left unsaid. I stood up, tall, blind and tired. no one is dying, but my grave is open and I want to jump into it. the velvet pillows, the black coffin and the worms trying to eat the wood of it. I smoked too much and my heart is pumping clouds where it was supposed to be your love. reaching the corners where the water could never touch. I can’t tell if I loved you, but I think you did even when you left me in that street. rape, too short to label the pain—but love remains with it, that’s all I can say. the love is getting old, the flower is silent now, and my blood is trying to leave me like you did. sorry and bye.
