The Petrichor Gazette

You missed my heart,

​

Everything I gave to her:

My love,

My heart,

And now, my life,

 

Confined to a jail cell,

All for her lies.

 

“Just a friend.”

It makes me laugh even now,

 

However rhythmic and ruthless it must sound, 

like the way I stabbed my knife into his chest.

 

The response to joy, forever stained with the blood of his body. 

 

I have forgiven myself 

but I must now write this down so she can forgive herself just as well: 

 

My Dear Dolores,

When they execute me this warm Monday morning, 

Know that my last words,

–The last breath that strangles its way out of me

Are too,

For you.