Cyanide Sunset
It was hidden there,
betrayal melting in soft ice.
His tongue, yellow,
and cowering behind
the birdcage.
The fog was lifting
from the mystery as
I crushed a walnut
with the palm of my hand
on the kitchen table.
He looked at me,
and I felt a tug pull from
my swollen womb.
All the proportions
of the room began to shift into
the scars of Prometheus.
His chin bent slightly
to the horizon, and
his eyes fixed neon light.
A volcano rumbled and
trembled in the distance.
He paused,
"Maybe we should..."
There it was,
the shadow of his former
self became a streak
of red that reflected in
the window.
His smile morphed
into a pitiful grin, and
our his words became cyanide.
"The Nevada desert was so cold
in the winter."
I pinched the walnut shell between my fingers.
"That's fine, you should go."
My face contorted as the door closed, and our unborn child began to bleed.