Rotted gutting, pickled lips and blood shot eyes,
violent limbs in the middle of sleep.
Protruding wormholes where the liver and heart should be,
fading in and out, a stranger, a lover, a stranger, again.
Coal black days for his enabler, who nourished him?
It was me. His breathing labored after kissing me.
Him licking his lips loving the way they tasted of beer; I was his woman.
He drifted in and out, a Boy, a Monster, a Boy, again.
Joining hordes of others dying,
one day at a time in crowded Sanguine rooms of hell.
Nothing left but the faintness of their best memories.
Their dreams strangling in dishevelment.
Who nourished him?
Who fell in love with him?
It was me.