Mitt överjävliga liv

Fuck det, vad trodde du?

Milk & black spiders

 

If I have loved, it is mostly
because that is what I have
called it.

The night I left, you pressed three
scars to the inside of my wrist and said
It will be different with you gone.

Later I marked time by their fading.

But it was lazy, making you beautiful
that way. I was reading words
backwards—lover, almost
revolve, almost
evolve,

and I couldn’t believe in things.