this is the end of all things,
where i’m picking my teeth for traces of you
and the light goes out in the middle of the night.

here is an alternate history:
your hands, but with
“the end of the world”
written on them.

because this was the real apocalypse,
your bruises implanted in my skin
the way they spelled “goodbye.”
take care, take care
you won’t be seeing me again.

but we were just swollen children,
you’re thinking,
we were just playing with blood like every child does.
and you’re right.
i was a human canvas and you were
painting my childhood onto me.
you never did anything any other boy wouldn’t do.

so bring me my ending world
in hands split and shaking.
so tell me i’m unlovely one last time.
you know i’ll believe each word you say.

tell me something.
what colour were my lips by the time we were through?
how deep a hole did you choose for me
that i could finally fit into once i was all carved up?
what kind of child was i?
tell me something.
what was so wrong with me
that you had to keep me?