Incurable


ever since the night she abandoned me mid-
sentence with a lop-sided heart and not enough
syllables to release all that had welled inside me, I
gave all that I had previously been (it hadn't been much, just a
few limbs and whatever beats were left in my organ of a heart;
no soul, no soul) to the coroner who's eyes gleamed at such a
pleasant site of a once-whole woman torn apart. I tried to tell
myself of what a shame it must be to return to the universe the
way I had been brought in- this blackness does not suit my
mouth well, these mariana trench lungs had been buried with
remnants of consonants still forming, with vowels pushing the
boundaries of my veins just to get past my cold, blue lips-
even while suffering the consequences of no longer being in this
fickle world, she could still stir parts of me that were not known to
exist in the first place and if that is a tragedy, you have not been
in love.

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