My bar shift ended, car keys hidden in handbag fingers smell like beer.
I know the endgame, the long term plan. It doesn’t help at night while you’re sleeping, snoring beside me, and all I can do is think.
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He said she’d changed him, reformed his spine. Snapped each vertebrae to suit herself and left him hunched over what remained of his heart. The next came with healing hand, or so she thought when she tried to gouge out the broken and cover the cracks with masking tape and flesh tone plasters. The last stamped, kicked and flew in. Tested the breaks, how much she could ask, what he would give, never demanded scars be explained. “We all are damaged,” she said, “We all bear marks. What counts is the follow up, if you’re one to fall or build something stronger with another.”
Somewhere else you said, as if we could drop it all and not miss the shards.
University, bags still not packed for Friday and work all Thursday.
Idiot boyfriend, No breakfast in bed today Sleep comes first it seems.
If I could listen to the ghosts within the mist… I might just go mad. My wardrobe divide does not account for seasons. Cold? Just grin and bare.
I was Ice Empress, a cold, stony heartless bitch. When did that all melt?
I must be clutter finding my way into rooms to watch you shun spring.