Try Not To Think Of How It Could End

Words by Kristin Garth

I see a stranger who looks like a friend.

Time machine eyes take me back when I was

a sister in an oak double bed, shin

shimmying skin while you listen —. flaws

I offer in darkness, pink gauze because

my skin has been opened. I can’t hold them

in — made porous by him without cause.

Caressing me carefully, playing pretend,

seeming so grateful, holding hate in — I

won’t recognize. Believe your unbroken words,

untraumatized eyes my suffering buys

from our demon. You feel spurned, me preferred.

See you in strangers who look like a friend,

I try not to think of how it could end.

Art by Nicole Mason


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