She’s whispering in my ear,
“Just one more time. It will make you feel better.”
I wish she wasn’t right, but she always is.
I drank the poison.
She is the antidote.
I scratch the tickle at the back of my throat
over and over, until I’m empty and spent.
I lay there for days wrapped in her arms, without eating or sleeping,
My breathing is heavy and labored.
She tells me that it will be worth the rumbling and rotting.
Our love is the apple I’m not supposed to bite into,
but how could I crave anything else while she's here with me?
She requires my loyalty.
She sees my potential.
She’s making me beautiful as she’s killing me,
and she promises to end it all gently.
The mourners will congratulate my devotion even as I lie in my grave.
- Ophira
Comments