the patron saint of gaslighters

in an alternate reality

my shiny locks of peroxide blonde

lay 6 feet under

with your name embedded in the divots of my wilting tongue

in an alternate reality

my crumbling tombstone reads

i hope that you’re treating her well;

i hope i am your only casualty.

i hope that she hears my name

and knows

you’re the cause

of this tragedy.

(sometimes, there are days where

i hope you spend your time reading my soft poetry

& finding your hard name in between the lines;

then other times there are days where

i’d rather be burned alive.)