Fuck her!
Fuck her,
I say, for leaving
cold, leaving me
knotted and shivering,
with pain in the dark.
Too young, they say,
to take it all away.
I cannot understand.
I cannot forgive.
Death is not an answer,
only a question on
everyone’s lips.
That’s your Trousseau,
that’s what’s left:
the question,
the question,
that none can ask.
19/6/2019