Your syrup-softened lips coat sugary words,

Thick with honey, maple sap,

Gooseberries on my tongue,

Bittersweet like you

Shove mountains of ash down my throat,

Hidden under layers of aspartame,

All the things you try to say

won’t break down my walls, Displayed

through the crackling embers

of the birch trees in my backyard

I am a victim of the high-strung sentences,

Rolling off your lips,

The way you try to crack my limbs,

Try to rip them apart from tendon to marrow,

Make me feel hollow,

Solely meant for your pleasure alone,

Coughed up

from remnants of better things,

The thrown-out leftovers of a masterpiece

You reached your hand deep down inside

and pulled out the pretty parts of me,

The stained-glass windows of my brain,

My crumpled petals all rolled up,

Mixed with the hot breath steaming

out of my mouth

And I cried as you plucked

every strand of hair from my head,

Piece-by-piece,

Every soft-stemmed blossom

from the garden inside of my mind