love lost.

i can still hear your voice. how devastating to be given no choice other than to comprehend & accept your loss. 

you were loved, you were missed, i tried to show you trust, yet we were unwell surrounded by parasites & devils. we shared psychosis more than once, but it was our mental health that kept us apart. we were so unwell, i hoped to help us both by cutting you out. yet here i am, confused & angry that you’re gone.

i can still hear your voice, those times i shared with you were full of love, lust & fear. we met in such a vile place, trust we could not because survival was the cost. we barely made it through that storm. the first time i saw you, five years ago it was, you walked into the lounge of the dingy brothel we whored ourselves from. 

i thought i’d never seen such beauty before my eyes. I couldn’t look away, I watched you lead him upstairs, glancing back at my stare before disappearing with him in tow. i thought of you & him, him having you how i wanted you, but baby, you didn’t even have you. i am ashamed for having been unkind to you, despite the damage we inflicted upon one another, you were my last girlfriend. my last relationship with another woman & i failed you. 

the shock of learning of your death has me distressed, feeling restless, cos its too fucking late to help or convince you of the cost. 

paris, i can still hear your voice.

i can see you as you cry, hands holding your head to your knees, fingers intwined through hair, i can feel the echoes from your gasps of air. for your last few breathes. how alone you were, how hurt you felt, how convinced you were that there was no other way out. 

i know they didn’t find you for days. baby, baby, why? 

we last spoke less than three weeks before you ended your life. two days after your birthday was the last time. i had messaged, text & tried to call you more than three times before & after you died.

i am tortured by thoughts of your body, how you would have begun to rot, your beauty empty, cold & zipped up in a forensic bag of black. your body that i used to touch, someone who i was lucky enough to have loved. i remember our last kiss, how soft & warm your lips felt, how milky your skin was, god you were a beauty. a goddamn blessing to have loved.

your mother had you cremated. wish i could have been able to visit you, but i understand & respect her decision to do that. i hope she puts you in a beautiful urn, i hope she finds peace in your loss.

your daddy made you a memorial page on facebook. he messaged me yet i’m unable to return his words. i’m scared. simply seeing his love all over the page in your name has done my heart & stomach over again. 

my body aches for your memory, for ours, for your loss. 

i can still hear your voice, & i can’t believe you’re gone.

Paris Elaine Lilly Baravykas

if I never see you again,

I will always carry you



on my fingertips

and at my brains edges

and in centers


of what I am

of what remains

Charles Henry Bukowski


I used to send his poetry to you. When we became lovers his poetry became my whispers of sweet everythings that I would send to you. The ways your eyes sparkled & reflected in the light while they looked into mine still makes my heart swoon, despite the breaks in my ribcage from the weight of losing you.

© AleCat 2017

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