Forget-me-not

A cut-throat chokes on a butter-knife edge.
We were on the cusp of love.
Starched crux lovers,
Full of solid sordid hope.
Your fresh paint eyes were the cause of our demise
It stopped like a blood clot rotting.
Forget me, knotted, twined, tangled around your memories.
I crept over you, moss clinging to a wall,
softly covering and corroding your roots.
My greedy vines penetrate your mind's soil.
Those words unwrote, etched into your throat.
A last embrace, my pressure leaves impressions on your skin,
now scarred with my bitter shoots of love