sweet as poison on my tongue.
It was what you didn’t say
that made me suffocate.
Indifference was the knife
you sank into my back.
Like eight years and nine lives
were nothing to you.
You were my sister,
keeper of secrets,
you were my person.
I would have died for you
but you went and made yourself a ghost--
an aroma, a cyanide haze
I might feel in a crowd
or in a dream--
my nightmares.
How do I mourn the death of us
when you were the butcher?
I saw your true colors
and chose to see them in a different light.
Every time you hurt me,
I forgave.
But this was the last,
I’m out of lives to give.