you, yourself,
must be censored.
a name, a place,
a debilitating trigger.

blocked and hidden -
except in the framework
where memories of you
creep, prowl, lurk.

you’re dead, you’re done
i owe you nothing.
are you forgetting that night?
i see when you’re bluffing.

be patient now,
just a few more words.
how curious! i heard
from a little songbird

that beelzebub, satan,
the devil himself
was shocked, dismayed
at how your lover was dealt.

one hundred days
then bleach through my ear -
youll be just as forgotten
as you wish i were, dear.