22-aug-2022

What if I end up hiding in one of the holes you punched in your door?

Cover me up with photos and posters and drywall

and I'll hide forever where your arm stopped halfway through my bones.

We made pretty paintings with all our red flags babe,

all of the dreams and hopes we once had

disappeared when I met the man you are post-pretend.

Now it turns out that drywall doesn't hold up against punches

and there's some doors that once welcomed me,

but I should have run through before they were slammed in my face;

before I lose the last shreds of my mind and dignity and self.

I wouldn't have left –

but now you can't get to stay.

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