November alone
Clamped hunched
Strung up in a guillotine
Worn down after ten months
Can't even feel the splintered wrists

Let It Be I'm on Fire
On loop
Mashed together,
Forming a semblance of a girl
Almost one self-destructing year later

That night he came in from the deck
Commented on the moon
That last tangible night,
A grave stone furiously avoided
Can you smell the honeysuckle?

The honeysuckle.
He told me about the honeysuckle.