i said

i am the owner
of poetry today
it now belongs to whom
suffers the drama
to whom

was

left

not to whom
in love
betrayed
and lied
no matters
who?
died?
when?

your feelings,
your garbage
blooms where our love
lies in its unpeaceful grave
it was thrown
like leftovers away

the words you wrote to her
are the worst i´ve ever read
not because to whom they were addressed
just because your lack of poetic sense

the poorness she deserved

i am the owner of poetry
i said
that is what you left

what a shame
that my Muse
came from hell