24.12

black box in my room
with black ribbons
it is written on it
with fading chalk
happy birthday to you, my dear story
I cannot open it
I know it's you inside
naked and unwilling to talk to me
if you could only say
"I don't love you"
it would be so much easier for me
to look for you
and make you want me
but ribbons remain glued
to that cartboard your skin is
whispering
"happy birthday, my bruised justine".