Holy Words

Dear past love,

Stop.

Do not call me.

Do not call me the names which once rolled off your tongue in droplets of honey

to plant flowers in my lungs.

You lost all right to call me when the word void was stamped on whatever it was between us.

My name is a holy word too pure for your tongue, 

and every sly grin and roll of your r’s marks progress undone.

These words do not belong with you, 

for holy clouds do not belong in the festering cesspool of your mouth.

You make a mockery of sacred sounds,

turning words of past love,

into notes of hopes drowned.

This scripture is not designed for your tattered tongue,

but for breaths between mouths,

and for caresses whispered beside candles snuffed out.

How is your mouth not bleeding still from the daggers cut from words of abuse?

Why do you still try to hurt me with names you only borrowed and stole from the start?

How dare you try to make a sacrifice of me?

The only altar I lay on is my own.

You try to cut out my tongue, 

steal my voice,

smash my heart to broken stone.

You are no god.

You are merely maggots,

feasting on what is left of a soul.

You act as a false icon,

eating prayers in hope they will make you whole.

I’m here to tell you that you’ll never fill the hole in your chest.

You’ll never be able to save yourself from the dirt filling your mouth as you sink beneath the ground.

I’ll be there waiting,

I’ll be watching you go under,

because the shovel for your grave will be in my hands.

So before your blood waters the Earth,

before your body kisses the ground,

before you leave me forever,

I need you to purge my name from your mouth.

My name is reserved now for confession, 

for purging yourself of sin,

and justifying the person you have been.

So may your eyes cry false cleansing tears,

may your mouth let slip lying apologies to fall on deafened ears.

May your tainted skin brush another sinners bed,

and may my name never grace your lips again.

Love,

Someone who hopes never to hear from you again