When you speak of her name,
those astringent vowels that melt across your tongue,
I feel green-eyed.
I want to spit venom, I want to sink my teeth into something fragile.
When you deny her blame,
those things she claims and assumes,
I feel ill.
I bite my tongue and clench my fists.
When you ask me if I'm fine,
I feel ashamed.
I shrug it off, but my thought slam and howl.


                                  I'm worried.

A stirring of crows erupt from my chest,
as lean back carefully
to make it easier on my weary bones.
there is nothing to stop their storm, their laughter
as they climb up into the clouds
I stare at them, at an achromatic world
and they stare back at my cadaverous figure, lying in the grass.