You stepped out of love with me, baby
as I tumbled out of love with myself, baby
as you tried to claw the pills from my shaky
hand. I was shoving capsules down my throat
then my mother forced fingers down my throat
and I vomited every word you ever spoke,
convinced in the end, love is all you have.
I thought I had you. Now ten fingers is all I have
but I will chop off three and cut them in half
to serve as hors d'oeuvres for our funeral in silver
trays while our friends eat bites of my ring finger, silver
band still intact with a skewer in each piece like slivers.
The snacks are donned with an olive garnish
as blood red sauce drips from my fingers like polish.