Your scent suffocates me strangling everything that signifies living,
bringing me down into a hole where insects prey on whatever is living.
Why would you do this?
Your warm body was once mine where I could touch and wrap my fingers through your own,
keeping me from freezing at night during the winter days.
Why did you leave?
Your fingers held tightly around my wrist clinging to it and bruising down to their cores,
dragging me into hell hot like a boiling pot of stew and inhuman like the screeching moans of the dead.
Why drag me?
Your breath caressed my skin tickling the surface and bringing goose bumps to dance,
causing me to relax and slip into a cloud of fluff and ignorance.
Why can you not do it again?
Your foot thuds against my rib the last night you feel is worth to stay after pronouncing your wrongs,
cracking a blow that sends pain with confidence that it can do damage.
Why hurt what you love?