Ashen skies.
Sober with morning,
Feel my innards shrivel with poison…
I wasn’t meant to hear that you loved another.
A scoriae soul all but frozen…
Overperforming
In disguise.
Eyes gone sere.
Her scent on your skin,
Mocking afterthought come epigram.
I wasn’t meant to hear that you loved another.
Bile crisps up below the diaphragm,
Withering within.
Don’t come near!
*
vic briggs 