i thought your eyes were brown,
but they are obsidian black, black, black.
an oil spill.
a freight train threat.
a weak imitation of a low rent
horror flick postlude to the sequel.
purple blue slick--
maybe with some scorpions underneath.
they say "the bigger the better,"
(less to kill you with, my dear)
but yours can fit into your sockets--
they aren't big at all.
intoxicate and eradicate.
intoxicate and eradicate.
i was one and a half into it,
but i found release in your strike.
a complimentary excuse to fall out gracefully
(with grace fully with me).
sure i lost a limb,
like those World War vets,
who also maybe lost a lung
(more for holding tongues than for speaking).
now i have no obligation to blame,
cause ghosts are always overlooked.
i gladly lost my arm in this all,
because girl number 1 is still trying to save her parts
against your poison,
and now she is just rotten,
rotten,
rotten
(like most of them).
since my death i just keep an eye on that black,
and watch its movements.
i'd warn them, but it isn't my place.
instead i hold my surviving hand
against my finally beating heart
and feel phantom syndrome tissue and bones
pointing and screaming in your direction.