Eaten alive,
by all your famished
scrutinies.
Were we an item?
Or was I still fasting?
Never could tell,
never could taste.
Was that was my head,
up in your clouds,
or was I looking forward,
to more mosquito swarms.
Stung.
How your strands of hair
brushed my leg on
our old couch.
Pricked fingers,
on your broken promises,
like glass and gnat's mouths.
Your left behind clothes,
sting more,
than bug bites.
Your half of the bed,
swells up,
necrotic.
You're Necrosis, baby.
Gotta suck ,
all the poison out.
I was never hungry,
like you were.
I never seem
to swat all the
flies.
