undo

he loves me...
i whispered to myself
as he kisses every inch
of his wife's naked skin
that smelled of placenta.
their bodies moving in
pathetic hunger and lust
on a hot humid day in april
while i was alone,
waiting for someone
or something,
to greet me
a happy birthday.

he loves me...
i heard him say
as he strums his guitar
and brags of his music
to the crowd, to his friends
and to the girls he tried to hit on
without my knowing.
then he would set his arm
over my shoulder
keeping in his mind
that i am his,
we are happy,
and everything will last
while i fumble for my purse
and pay for what he had consumed.

he loves me...
in the peak of intoxication
in one of his sexcapades,
as he wildly touches
the long brown curls.
the dark brown skin,
the thick brown lips,
of this girl we once met
at 70's bistro while waiting
for the band to play.

he loves me...
i sadly told myself
as my memory recalls
petals of red roses
floating on the bathroom sink
and leaving my body trembling,
my soul in dreadful agony,
and hearing his words
a year after...
"it's nothing but blood."

he loves me...
while i write the very last word,
read each verse over and over
til it becomes revolting
and emotionally sickening
that i have to erase
the opening lines.