R.I.P.

“the tiny crumbs of bread,

were only to mark my trail”, cried

gretel collapsing to the floor

unruffled, they looked hansel in the eye

challenging him to turn against the pack

incognito

how can he let go

the maverick butterflies

he chased

to fractured bottles

when he barely

could walk,

knowing well

they can

only fly that high, that far

how can he let them

prosper in oblivion

so he thought

had her skin been as soft as her voice
they'd have played longer

the descendant

her pace

got brisker

towards

the end

each time

his pace

at best

steady

wonder if

she realised

the destination

was the journey

wonder if

he knew

too well

pillow talk

"is love not a battle fought

between the sheets?", argued

the man

"then ours is a

rapid-fire shootout", remarked

the woman

*and that night they slept

with their backs toward each other*

Play II

it’s not your independence

he is after

never was

it is your inherent nature

of remaining liberated

that frightened him

he backed his

ability to domesticate you

with his kisses and words,

some more words and

the promise of everlasting love

only to be let down

by the brewing fight

within you

of momentary

lust

he finally had no choice

but to strip himself

bare

to the bone

load. aim. fire. repeat.

her lips curl
upward
as she blinks
at his
fleeting
disregard
for her
existence
and he
barks
about
violently
to shatter
the silence
that followed
the decisive bullet
he shot
a year ago