Broquest.

you were happy with me once,

and i was content being wrapped up in you

but someone forgot that

possible perishable romance must be kept in the fridge

so we were left out to spoil

and after dusting off our container i realized

maybe we were wrong about the expiration date

a reminder
is the tiny patch of skin
on the bottom of my thumb
“Look at what you’ve been
and what you will become”
but it does not define me
though the story behind it
is one full of screams
when I picked where I saw fit
to peel away layers
and thrive on the pain
to shout into the air
to win a losing game
and although I know
skin mends quicker than the heart
healing is always slow
when minds rip flesh apart

i can feel the crackling as my heart is sautéed
i thought maybe when you cooked me
i’d at least sizzle on a clean pan but
i’ve counted how many times
you forgot about me
and let me burn for a while
and how many shitty paper plates
i’ve ruined while waiting to be consumed
i’m surprised there are still parts of me left
that you will probably throw away
because they got crispy, too
and you like your meat rare
so you can see how it bleeds for you

you are a terrible chef

some trees can’t bend
so they snap in two
then fall to the dirt
ready to be forged
and burnt to ashes
and blown with the wind
and marched on by an
army of vengeful men
who stare death in the face and
lick their lips
ready to feast on
Mr. Grimm Reaper himself
because they were taught to
hunger for killing a man based on what he wears on his head
and the god he prays to
straps bombs to his chest
instead of Purple Hearts
when in the end
they all breathe the same hated air
that blew the trees down
in the first place

when you’re traveling on a path
with a rut so deep you can’t see out
the hardest thing to do
is turn in another direction.