Maybe your bones are made of gunpowder
solidified
you'd crush them while inside
between bones and sinew
blood, capillaries
light it up.
burn a fire in you
destroy what was left
by him
you should be sad
but instead
you're pissed
you want to give up
but you think you never will
for now
you'll spend time
with a singular body
"pas deux"
it's the better choice
but you'll always be haunted
by dark eyes
hovering over
darker circles
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