phoenix
i killed her.
it was hate at first sight;
once i'd seen what she'd become, i knew that
i could not go on
with her breathing my air.
i killed her.
i burned her books and clothes and a+ essays
i burned her heart
or
at least
what was left of it.
i killed her yet in doing so,
she gave new life to me.
smoke rose from the tongues of flame
and i rose with it, above it, better than what we had been.
i killed her and never looked back
grateful that she had left me no scars
grateful that she had taught me what not to become
grateful that she had saved enough money for me to take the Amtrak west
where she'd be
reborn into Me.
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