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Oct 2017
it hurts

you’ve split open more people than you can count
stopped counting
but the way he looks at you-
eyes so wide
waves clashing against rock, harsh, deafening
pleading
desperate
rapids in his mouth as he speaks, a slurred fatal thing
“I don’t-”

but then the ocean goes silent and cold and still and-
you think that you’d like to split yourself apart

start at the stomach, your biggest knife
drag it up, bones scraping, through your spine
up your sternum, break every rib, until it reached your heart
rip that apart too
maybe you could breath then through what’s left of your lungs
maybe then you could get the taste of his blood out of your mouth

you drink poison to **** all your living parts
your bleeding parts
to **** all the things inside you that can feel
but you can still see the blood on your hands
but you still want to burn every inch of you that touched him

so

you **** and you **** and you **** and you ****
and you ****
and you
****
you **** everything you touch
you poison everything good
you remember the way he looked at you
eyes so wide
blood falling from his lips
a calamitous fatal thing
and-

it hurts
A poem about a character of mine (an assassin) who lost someone. I hope it makes enough sense without too much context.
Delilah Day
Written by
Delilah Day  Louisiana
(Louisiana)   
  402
     H and Glassmuncher
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