I am just not into you
after all the shit you put me through.
thorough is the word for what you do
to deliver me to hell.
Goddamn you do it well.
I rue the day you rang my bell the day the Angels fell.
a smile burned across your lips while a fire crept across your hips and anger dripped and flipped and slipped between your teeth.
It’s your boot with me beneath.
and when I prayed the pain would lift she gave to me one two three gifts:
a stone, and a grave, and a wreath.
carved with the words
“here lies a beaten beast,
killed by the part of she that grows a yeast
. . . infection.”
Death by pussy.