the last poem for her

a memory: an insect’s fragile wings folded back
covered in soap, sweat, honey, cum
stop writhing on the hot asphalt
we are trying to save you!

from pretty pink lungs collapsing in
what a cliché: you are rotting from the inside out
fruit flies dizzy around the soft flesh
of a bruised strawberry chin

laying on your back
legs thrashing in the dirty bath water,
touching yourself, choking yourself,
spitting out the fat of meat into your palm,
a baby calf dying in your belly,
rumbling in the morning light

hide and seek in the closet,
don’t find me, my heart is beating too fast,
i can’t breath! teeth and tongue and i hate it,
shut up shut up shut up

who are you under all that?
under the grime?
under the fucking and illusion
and shitty metaphors and weed
looking down, looking up, smirking,
so predictable,
you six year old,
picking dandelions off the side of the road,
twirling twirling tangled in eyelashes
in fingers, pussy, poetry, rot, you bitch

you pretend to cry,
pretend to not know
you use everything,
bite your lip, kiss her, fuck him,
pretend to hate yourself

dry swallowing pills in the whore house,
fairy homes flooded with fake panic attacks,
faking drunk, faking hurt or love or whatever,
none of this is real anyways
just girls playing a cheap game of pretend

our bodies have melted together in his head
he’s inside of me! like poison,
it wasn’t for you,
(i like how he kissed better,
at least it was honest)

why are you always making it about you?
like all i could do was take, get fucked,
too stupid to be separate from you
just a dumb girl, meaningless slut
cheating on years wasted on you

i’m so fucking bored of you
of this poem, of writing about you,
of pretending this ever would work,
that i even want it to

i’m bored of your body
and the way you breathe
bored of your stories,
i know you
and charlotte got your periods at the same time,
i get that you dream of sad things
and love rose

i know i know i know,
i just don’t care