It’s betrayal like this that makes me lose trust
Didn’t you claim to be my very closest friend? This cliché is the knife jammed into my spine, & it agonizes worse than death –
but I’m in love with a poet, so I will say this –
it is not a dagger or sword that severed my vertebrae and stabbed my heart.
It wasn’t my blood that spilled on the floor.
A fountain pen you had grasped as a weapon, and if it’s all the same, the ink pooling at my feet is emptying my heart of all its meaning.
I thought I had been depleted, all my feelings
after his death, after she left me, after I was abandoned.
But you, little girl, still found a way to stab into me & leave me staggering, losing my breath over
accusations & lies.