Shouting ink stains
dribble onto fingers,
leaving behind telltale words
scribbled between the
swirling lines of these
unintended fingerprints.

Once warm conversations bathed
us in red-gold sunsets,
but mishandled, they darkened
with inky smudges that slunk
into frigid nights
after you yawned widely,
tilted the horizons and
swallowed my sun.

Cronus to my Rhea,
all the words you speak
shine like a flashlight,
leaving halos around your teeth
as you eat every bit
of the sweet hope that I held,
while its emetic residue
still sticks sickly to my hands.

The softness of dreams
I once drew around myself
like a blanket of clouds
is now gone;
I have silently hardened 
in the darkness,
where I was forced to hold
my tongue.

No longer will I be silent
in the lie of a connection that failed...

I hope you choke on the light
when the sun rises from
the darkness of your throat,
as you reap what you have sown.



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