A lot of 'why' cascades over my lips, in a never-ending deal that never pays. A lot of 'sorry' bubbles over in thick, acrid minutes of prayer: a struggle to absorb any presence that differs from my own fucking thoughts.
I never asked to be the martyr. I never asked to be used and thrown away. Where is your voice in these rough seas? Don't you see I'm foaming at the mouth?
Shaky bones rattle inside porcelain waters, drowning mistakes in the notion that I'm a...
Oldest friend: we have journeyed long, steady miles. Roses blush faintly against marred skin: she too has lost her satin edges. Sparse threads hold me tightly as they do decades of secrets. She whispers—