Ten Feet Under

by Eisle B. Opeña

Imagine me standing on a cliff

wearing nothing, but the smell of cigarettes in my tongue

the chapped lips that used to whisper ‘no’

but you kept on digging, anyway


and I remember,

how your nails raked through that sensitive skin

touching, claiming, marking,

every inch of me

as your first-prized trophy

and I remember,


where you touched me in the dark

down in the corner of what couldn’t be reach in the light

as I resolve into muffled silence

and surrendered ignorance


and I remember,

when you kissed my unresponsive mouth

your tongue was sharper than a sword

and cutting through the sound of silent tears

tasting so ugly


and I remember,

all the things I hoped to forget

to leave these memories ten feet under

to let them rot into nothing but dirt

but these things I knew I could never


your touch is a never-ending story

and even after you’ve left,


I can’t differ yours from another

because in my head,

you are here, there, and everywhere


so please

if – when – you read this,

bury me under ten feet under

along with the self I’ve lost

in the ocean of my own emptiness

let me wither

allow me to burn into ashes and ember

and maybe – just maybe –

every fucking memory of you

would burn away too


We want to thank Eisle for her contribution! Follow her on Twitter and Instagram.

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