A man I once loved
Rolled joints from the sleeves of his grandmothers bible,
He hated her for dying.
He locked the door, closed the windows and burnt a lot of incense
Said he was teaching me how to hold my breath
Said that’s how it felt when he waited for me to love him.
I could have died from the smoke,
But I didn’t and that how I learnt to trust him.
This game we would play,
Sort of living and trying out ways of dying.
Some of these back rooms house Romeo and Juliet impersonations.
Sometimes love feels a voice that stutters,
Sometimes it feels like a funeral song.