the damnedest destinations

the wind   s
	     w
	  i
	     r
	        l
             s.
i can hear your voice
In the gentle br e  e  z  e   ,

“You so funny,
“You are such a riot.”

the laughter reverberates
in
sin-
cerity.

“Fascinating.”

the word flew fast past
what was it again?

     “So
         sweet;
     cute;
         nice”

the words are now
s   u   f   i   g
  h   f   l   n    .

then nothing.
gone—vanished—
veneer varnish
desecrated by death.

“Oh my!”

but why? why the change?
do i know longer fit
on
       your
               range?

dead gender grab
dropped like a stab,
but I’m not on a slab.

“Why, I never…?!”

never, what?
never got cut by a “friendly” knife,
something you though brought life,
only to see it slit your throat,
like a fucking scapegoat.

“Well…”

what? well…what!?
thought i didn’t have a voice,
that I didn’t have this choice.

underestimation leads
to the damnedest destinations.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved. 

Tittu