quiet broken voice

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 April 17th, 2025 



To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.


And today.

I am still in pieces.

No text, no phone calls.

Just emptiness.

And there won't be any more.

I'm sure. Forever.

I'm a tornado blown wide open, a belt wrapped like a noose, tight around my neck.

The needle pricks I've hidden in old scars.

We marry our wounds.

They never leave us, knitted together by red fibers, birthday banned bullet, fired by teeth now dressed in me. Sleep is my only escape, yet I am awake in a nightmare.

Swallowed by a pothole, any touch feels coarse except for her, she was my violet, my incubator.

We don't remember days.

We remember moments, sink into a blue hole charged with radioactive chemicals, multiply like flies, insoluble once more I could hear my pulse break through water.

Heartbeat strangled by tides.

I am a doll.

Unstitched.

I am milk, uncrated.

But I am here.

I moved mountains for you.

But you wouldn't so much move a chair for me.

So I sit and I'll wait in that very chair. 

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