End of the end

8 thirty five
15 January 2018
I dont want words, my old friends,
to write this down
to turn the sounds of our life
into the record of her final leaving
it seems too intimate a betrayal
to use words
to touch this pain
and
hold it
between gut and heart and head
immobile
paint it across the paper
I want to keep the pain outside
myself
my life
a bit longer
I dont want to read it
orderly
sentence over sentence
it's a wild death
in her jaws
neck crushed
softness torn
dazed
while hot
blood
creeps relentlessly
over
everything.