Meet me beside belden

Written by Khaela Correa


Who knew you enjoyed

a glass of white wine,

whiter than the poorly painted

walls of the slanted roofed shack

you had me pressed against.

A division between you, me, and him

left in the air- never to be addressed

or touched again like the nape

of my neck to your finger tips

caressed like the neck of your

prized guitar, stolen as it- 

and I were last summer.


Who knew I’d be the poison

in your veins, as dark and

thick as the image of treacle

displayed on your search history. 

An uncrystallised, sticky muck

of a condiment only found

during your next long excursion

to a world far beyond the

not-so-mysterious smells

embedded in the seats of

the CTA after a rainy day.


I’ve only ever seen you

as a giant, looking down at

those not worthy enough to grow

to your level, though unintentional.

Your seemingly charming

demeanor ceases to exist

and your blood starts to boil

the second your world gets

torn apart like the pages

that contain your latest lyrics

that will be sure to make you millions.

But the award for saddest ending

inevitably goes to me, left more of a

mess than the mashed up tar

from the cigarettes you tossed on

the pavement, discarded and forgotten

in the rain to disintegrate.


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