Trash of Z. His former lover portrayed unfairly.
Figure it out.
The Villain. The Violator. The Abuser.
A monster in disguise as a romantic poet.
He was the Ted Hughes of her life,
but no, of course. She would never want death by the gas stove.
They were intellectual equals. The great revelation of their youth.
She unclasped the universe for him. He tried to do the same.
Their judgments full of contempt. He chooses to be mute.
Let them believe your evil. You’re evil.
Love is a thing of the past. Nothing can cure a heart in cold fire.
They can strike stakes to your heart and still laugh at their faces
Trash of Z.
She was his religion. His Goddess.
The idiots and pretenders. Friends and liars.
The immaculation of savage perceptions.
She was a martyr and him the disillusioned fanatic.
He caused her death, he admits.
He buried her beside him.
Cold remains of an overkilled, butchered lover.
Her ravaged face perfected the smile of the most beautiful woman
Standing at four feet nine.