Saturday, 28 July 2018



You begin to do all the things you swore you'd never do,

he sets your heart on fire and you try to quench it with your tears, you don't want to burn. Even your ashes cannot watch him love another woman,

you re-write your personal Constitution a hundred times over. You tamper justice with mercy, until justice dies in your diction,

Now you know the fire is burning you, but the pleasurable pain won't let you go,
so you kiss the flames and wear a deodorant of smoke

Sometimes you wish everything you felt for him would just float away on the tears he makes you cry, but no, it's just a wish.

So you sit there like a suicide bomber, carrying your death in your pocket. the only difference is, you've not told your family that you'll die, that you have chosen to die.

You are weak and vulnerable but you try to write your final note (to the world) on the scroll of passion as your body lurks with his.

Your heart melts, your breathe fades and your moans are the first note of your own dirge.

To profess love to a man is to drill your own 

grave with your tongue and make peace with death,
for love is the ultimate suicide.