fragments

He with his lips that were too soft and limp for my kisses, this one with his rough calloused hands, that one with his cum that burned me from the inside.

“They” say it takes seven years for our cells to regenerate and make us into completely different people, so those parts of them have never touched any parts of me, now.

One by one they broke me into pieces, but I finally feel clean.


This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. Photo by Genessa Panainte on Unsplash

strange angels

It’s been twenty-one years now since the night we sped drunk down back roads singing Just Like Heaven at the tops of our lungs, fresh from a David Bowie concert and nowhere near the brink of sleep.

I don’t know where you are in this world anymore but pictures of you live in boxes on my shelves and just so you all know, sometimes I think of lighting them on fire.

You were never any good for me, from the day you came from California you were like its fault lines ready to crack me open, waiting.


This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. + Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash