Ink to Ashes

When my ink burns
hottest, thoughts of us scream
old wants out of my pen,

and

the me who loved you starts to ache
for the fiery words we howled together.
But I know you are a scorched page,

I know

happiness turns to ashes
when self-love is slaughtered
so that lust can feed.

I know

your blood has gone cold
and your lips sing poison.

 

for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.