Poetry

roses smell when they rot

slowly,

slowly

you fall in slow-motion:

eyes wide

as you realize you are falling

and as your hand is ripped

out of mine

ruby lips agape

i’m entranced by the shock

that is spread across your face

the shock that you feign

because, c’mon-

we both saw this coming

but unlike you,

i opted to cross

the street and let you go

 

your head smacks the ground

splitting open like a juicy watermelon

the fresh flesh gushing out of the cracks

forming rivulets that crawl over the pavement

like red highlights in your hair

 

© 2017 Vic Romero

 

 

 

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