Forget me please
I scream at you
as you knock on my door
with tears in your eyes
in that black dress
once again

I hit you
with all my force
push you away
and slam that door
into you face

I hear you cry
in the rain
and I know
you´ll be back

I can´t kill
a memory

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Wounded.

Black bullet hole wound
blooms red November petals.
Blood and remembrance.

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the red regret of Thomas

my fingers drip crimson apologies
but now it’s far too late

I wanted to feel the red in you
to let the steaming  coils
wrap themselves around my disbelief

so when you offered your wounds
I was cautious at first
but needed to satisfy fears

apprehension turned
to blood lust
even as the sticky mess of truth
congealed upon my skin

tears dribbled down my ...

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