There’s an elongated finger
pointing at me wagging in reproach,
like the branch of a tree on a tree
it creeps into me
and will not let me forget.
How you are faded purple,
wonder-less,
it will not let me forget.
I could not survive it
and now
I heave, you leave
a thumb print in ink
dramatic little lines.
In a broken chair in your broken brain
I sit.
What it must be like
to be you
all that grime
peeling off like a slug
leaving wet spaces.
I can crawl
into your snail’s shell
through coal and mud and fire.
Like a priest I will bow my way in.
I am white-washed,
carry me home
indefinitely.
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