I watch your face
tremulous and yellow
where I left it spinning
in haphazard momentum
mere inches above my own.

I trace the air above your foul smile,
the abhorrent instinct to return
blow for blow all that you have taken.
There are no answers only eventualities.

You ruined me and I allowed it.
I have made a sport out of failure.
There’s no high in winning
when it is only a fluke anyhow.

I count them out in your hand
1-2-3 little pink pills
and soon you’ll be as numb as a board.
I am the only one left who believes
that feelings are necessary.
(at least you don’t hit when you sleep)

Tomorrow when you’re all bare bones and gristle
you’ll find your way back to the hate
that has sustained us all these years.
Tomorrow I’ll leave quick and holy
without so much as a eulogy.


5 thoughts on “Wordle #277

  1. I wrote a successful escape story…for one of your worldes in October.
    ‘Breaking the Contract’ (fiction site)- that’s what came to mind when I read this.

    So many cannot escape. Yet we always hope that most can.

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