Why start at the beginning
when the end
the black hole of a thing
that was us
now looms so large before me.
We were an us.
A Mrs and a Mr.
Tied together before God,
let no man or better yet
a woman tear us apart.
What is this bitter taste
that rises over and over
causing me to choke;
I seem to
know it so well.
Betrayal.
I wear it like a mantle
over my head,
a neon
sign that blinks
saying I wasn't good enough
for you.
Let's look at her with jaded eyes,
the curve of her jaw,
the ebony hair
was it the flair of her waist?
The way she tasted on your tongue
was it honey to your lips?
Like a bee you were drawn to
your Queen,
and I still feel the sting.
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