And now I sit in the dark,
thinking how you brought red wine, every time,
when I wanted white, every time.
How I’d drink it all and not cry, in front of you,
every time, because I wanted to press myself into your voice,
and not be hurt. You could do it with a single sigh.
I didn’t hear from you after that night,
when I opened my thighs to a stranger’s lies
and prayed that the scars on my wrists were whispering
their final good bye. Yet when the sun’s made
its last reproach, scorched the earth from the
guilt of having to die, I go back to see you when you held
my hand and turned your gaze to the stars in the sky.
“Look at them shine,”
I couldn’t. You were blocking their light.
Illustrator: Olivia Howcroft