Silent whispers

trois

I, the girl who
breaks hearts
and collects the
dust in a jar right
beside my family
photo frames, just
to sprinkle it later
on every letter my
ex-lovers had left
me, now sits in
a dark corner with
a wrinkled paper,
and a broken
pencil, for I dropped
my words at your
feet the moment my
eyes landed on
your bloodied ones.
You, the boy with
a cigarette in mouth,
and a glass of alcohol
in hand, claims to be
in love with me. A girl
covered in bruises
from the nights the
devil painted her
breasts in shades
of destruction and
chaos.
Babe, I am a hungry
hurricane, I feed on
hearts of naive boys
to spit my pain into
ink, and I'm afraid
you might be the
muse I've been
searching for all
along, for I think
amongst torn poetry
pages and whisky
shots we stumbled
on words to taste
love in ruins.