THE GAP

drawing dandelions in dull point, tethered in alternate rows shrinking until they disappear
twin bed beside parents, pushing the body in the crack until it sinks into the floor.
the closet beside it in the mirror wall, small legs folded between suitcases in numb spasms

there has never been anything else. you were loved when small, and became a choice. sit there on the couch with legs spread,
hand on stomach and say nothing. hair yanked as steps fall down thinking about the wife in the ceiling. it’s an affair. this is the role.
exlover stench sprayed on red tank, chosen. flesh torn, touched later. this one breathes and he makes the connection.

office papers, lesson plans strewn below feet creviced in shopping bags
on the floor, blue pencil reads: write something good or you'll be questioned.

pictured:
self in corners, underneath. the knife slides in repeat, hands ring the neck
doors open to the loved one, raises arms. they see the vision of the real self and consume it from the inside out.
static hands pressed under stomach make it easy to cradle again.

mattress in the corner of the dining hall the smell of alcohol every morning the fridge opens, rotting
television audial blur, only able to see blue and red reflection on mottled tile where people sleep
the wall fades to black and he comes again

baggy, dirt covered pajama pants unbrushed hair
where is it?
hands shake wide eyes hold rabbit
where are you going to get it?
motionless breathing from mouth
if you don't have it, your body will stop on the inside.
fingers framed around wide eyes petting soft strands
it's time for you to end now.

removes jeans walks into locker room legs crossed around drain, opens mouth wide and breathes in. arms outside boundaries,
chest curled in face against. bodies writhe against in pool hands touch bubbled swim shorts spill out pressed to jet.
shoulders pushed below level, legs kick until they don't. just as imagined when they bathe alone.

there is nothing special about pain.
there is nothing unique about another pathetic excuse for a fuck getting turned to nothing but a story.
faces change, this is the only thing that is ever needed to hear.

concrete cements this
bristles between the crack grow and blow away

the lead runs out