Time is burying disappointment in my veins like the bitter bloodred of betrayal , did you know the oxygen you needed to live can leak into your arteries , block them and cause a part of you to die ?
It's called an embolism.
I think about the hundreds of text messages flying through the airwaves, racing through space and time to reach friends and fathers and lovers, messages that didn't reach in time , messages that were read after the senders were shot dead , last words entombed in fragility, messages that were still never replied to.
" I'll call you," she swears and I try to not think about all the birthdays she's never called me, all the times I've meant nothing, waiting for the phone to ring like a sickness to end.
Take me to the city of dust and bones , a childhood spent in heaven. The flight is achingly familiar , remember when they gave Patchi on national day ?
Remember how you said you'd always be there ?
Remember when our words slipped between borders and countries , time and land separating us like never before, and you said you couldn't do it and you were sorry .
In forensic science we learn about how most murders are lust murders and how close rapists are to their victims , how the food that sustains you can lodge in your larynx till it suffocates you to death.
I can't recall the last time you texted I love you too back and I can't help but wonder if I was too drunk loving the poison of your memories to realise they were killing me , sucking the life out of me , the worst kind of betrayal .