‘Fruit Stand’

It was nothing,

to you

But you told me

that you would set everything I knew aflame

and nursed your coal soul inside of me

and I stared at your closet;

at your checkered button-down,

the way it hid behind all the others,

forbidden fruit.

I was land-locked,

a ship with creaking hull

and the ebbs and flows of your body

finding ways to keep me from running.

will I ever forget

the way you treated me

like I was a given?

I am so fucking good at keeping secrets

but you did not ask me

if I wanted

to keep this, no.

How many months

have I convinced myself you didn’t do it?

watched it over and over,

running water through my neurons,

told myself that it was love?

that it wasn’t taking, if it was yours?

but your skin still haunts me,

checkered shirt skeleton in the closet,

and when I see a blue Cadillac with a hand propped against the opened window holding a white lighter,

I become the moment; I ghost.

remember trying to claw away,

telling you to fucking stop,

remember you pinning my hands to the side,

remember wanting to scream so loud that my voice would melt away like ash,

remember not being able to.

laying there, staring into your closet,

feeling your linens staring back,

audience to my ego’s demise.

watching you rip my mango soul from my spine,

the both of us silent against your moans.

I’ve scrubbed everything I once was,

from the reflection I see,

and I (sometimes) call this body my own –

I hope it stays like this.

with each snowfall and sunlit storm,

I arrive from that moment into my own,

without you.

gratefully, and hauntingly.

when my corpse is complete,

your hold will be rotted vine,

and the fruit I will bear

will be so fucking sweet, baby,

with the plumpest, juiciest part of it being that

you’ll never get a taste.


Might delete this after posting. A little more vulnerable than I’m used to being.

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