She sat on the tiles that night,
sheilding bruised ribs with crossed arms,
aquainting herself with the inside of the bowl,
throwing up all the pain and thoughts.

Something got caught in her throat though,
did you get stuck there?
(was is the coals of the fire
you started inside her?
You let it die, it died out)
maybe she wasn't ready to let that memory go yet,

Coughing, heaving, spluttering, hurting, crying,
but the bathroom was so quiet, tiled walls too protecting,
she kept her silence that night as she died, with memories of you.