She grew without him.

Buckled to his shelf

like a dungeon marriage.

Making food for the mice in his cupboards.

In the time before cellphones

In the time before caffeine and booze

In the time before she recycled his socks and gave a fuck.

She is not what you think she is.

She still wears that tight red dress he gave her with her own money.

She wears it on dates with futility and despair.

And throws it on her own floor the way he vomited her up from atop his podium.

And got her own entrails on her face.

She cleaned up and saved the drippings for dinner.


…I ate it.

Ate her up to relieve her pain.

So she would get over him.


I can feel your pain, Mother. I want to silence it in me.


About heathencomehome

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