friendly fire

before bed i stop to inspect the greater obsession that speaks to timeless stories unearthed in the rumoured death of guilt and apologies. i post pictures of my face, breasts and bare hips but only in privacy to prove i showed him mine. there is something of me he’s mastered. something that returns me to his door asking him to come inside. he bridges worlds that my anxiety crumbles in morphed vulgarity flashing like floods whose portals seep from eyes to feet forever straining against the tempest gateways paved with his love. i am breathless in this chasm i’ve grown to call home.

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