Crossfire

Caught in the crossfire of someone else’s cruelty

She tiptoes up my spine, testing for weak points

“They hate you.” She whispers,

Devouring my faith with an angry smile

I thought I got over girls like her, decades ago

but it seems I’m infected, have not fully recovered

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll forget her, and myself.

 

 

 

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Cocoon

Looking backwards, I ask myself, “What was I, before I was caught?”

I wasn’t a butterfly. This cocoon isn’t going to magically transform me into something beautiful and liberated.

I watch through the gaps, others with wings, whose lives are vibrant and magnificent.

I visited them today, crawled out, and flapped around pretending to be one of them, briefly. I felt joy, and hope, and remembered myself, until it was time to return.

The Ghost

She saw her future unravelling,

consumed by him completely

not a trace of hope

for her ghost

his words tattooed on her flesh,

cutting out an old woman’s shape

binding himself to her

he used her younger self to sew up his damaged life

until her own was frayed beyond recognition

any thought of escape severed

so she dreamed of dying in her sleep

released from unintentional cruelty

The old woman slipped out of existence

Thanking herself silently.

The Fictional Suicide of Unrecognisable Me

“Overblown and dramatic!” You judge from the outside

But I Question this godless, empty vacuum

Waiting for something to save me

A religious residue from a life left behind

You say, “It must be hard to find anyone, when.”

“When I’m still living in limbo with him.” I reply, my heart

Sinking again.

If one more helpful stranger tells me

What I already know

This feeling will get deeper,

The time, longer

So I dream of my own fictitious ending.