hate

Until death do us part, my love; death took our first gasps.

Not the little death of our thousand filthy fucks,
not the poetic death of the Cure's underwater closets;

just hate relentlessly eating its children,
bingeing on the good,
just the inevitable loathing, just my muscles growing new ways, just your skin decaying -

just your pitiful craving for a wife-mother a grotesque amalgamation of all you lack, suck at the tit and lap at the cunt and never leave the womb -

just the slow drip feed of reality erasing us until we meekly return to grey and stop paining the faithful with our radiance.