Tell me how to write without your name sprouting in the spaces of my poetry because I forgot to speak with my own voice when all that I could ever hear is the way you sigh and say my name when it’s 3 in the morning and I am collapsing.
Tell me how to bleed not from the wounds that you inflicted on my skin for I have spent almost 300 days handing you my detached pieces only for you to spit and step on them as if they were never my everything.
Tell me how to watch you fall for someone else and act as if I am not a garden of carnation hastily wilting in disgust of your lies and affection.
Tell me how to walk without the veins of your memories dragging me to the past when I still thought it was real.
Tell me how to break you, to destroy you and to eradicate your existence so that you won’t have to taint others with your filthy hands.
Tell me how to obliterate you without causing my own demise.