poem: disenchanted

when i last heard this song i was better,
i was in hell
but i was managing: i would not
have stabbed my arm with a fork
because i forgot where my knife was kept,

i would not have spent the next day
staring at the small break in the skin—
about nothing, feeling nothing: i have gone
numb, my body is folding into
equal parts self-protection and self-
destruction. i want to talk to him
in the snow,

i want to haunt him, to make him
realize that he—perhaps—
has so many friends, he takes
people for granted; but i
am still—mostly—alone and i still
second-guess smiles, people:

maybe in his paradigm we
were just friends, he was being
friendly. but i
had already married him
and i
had already made him
my next

he should not have to carry it all
he should have to carry some, i don’t care
if this is selfish; if i
am left alone to hold the world,
once again,
i will not even try—i will drop it,
and let it crush me: finally,
the soundtrack to my misery
makes sense.


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