in the deep hollows
that form between each other
before they become the chasms of loneliness
that stretch across aeons.
I’ve forgotten how to stretch back to a time
where I was myself
without referring to you.
Bullets explode from your mouth
and pierce my soul.
Foul blood flows from my veins
onto the carpet stain.
The wasps stop their buzzing
to see what the commotion is about.
The black hole turns in on itself.
You’ve killed another argument
with your so-called love.
These implosions will be the death of me.
There was a time when I thought the stars shone for you.
Now, I know your appetite.
You are back to Black
and it is Death.
- by guest author Jessica Faleiro