Whining Bird of Prey

Your words were a fist

pounding into my soul

in fetid drops of corroded saliva.

I frantically exhaled you from my life,

scurrying behind my plastered walls

remembering the imposter, Nostalgia,

who left bruises on my hips, outlining

misery we embraced as we danced,

desolately without music, hovering

over abyss of festered lies.

You, a whining bird of prey, are a scar,

a knotted cloud disappearing into night.

Your phony love bled through my cuts

and bruises, leaving a legacy of hurt.

I wipe my dreams clean with scraps of

toilet paper, flushing you down my drain,

my despondent fingers tracing torn photos,

only thing you left were empty whiskey bottles

and broken memories of bullets in my heart.