You Aren’t Welcome

August she loved me. In August, she carefully kissed the marks indented by careless mouths.

In September, she bites into the dents and tears away a part of me before she leaves just so I can watch the blood turn stale as it trails after her-- so I can forever remember the carnage.

It is unbearable, as I watch wide-eyed like a scared child clutching my teddy as someone's callousness infects me. I wait like a beaten dog, for her return.

But September is cold-- and I grow to be the same. Where tufts of hair were ripped away, is shrapnel flesh.

When the summer kissed my skin and I smelt of coconut and harsh perfume, nothing was sweeter.

In September, the air tastes like gunpowder and honey.

It's my shot I fire, when you come limping back under the autumn's chill twisting your joints.

It is my smile-- poisonous and vile. I hope it eats away at you.