a room of life and death | girl/imagined | a poem

I felt your dead hand in mine

and forgot how to speak


I pretended to be a version of myself

that never existed

and let her pay you a visit

I walked her there

I walked myself to you

built up the courage

and felt myself perform

for you


you and I

only happened in darkness


I belonged to anyone else

before I belonged to myself


what you did with your body

with mine

and what was in my head

and what I did

never made it on the same page


we were raised by pages and papercuts

not books


I lived in my own world

and I shut you out

because ruins paved your way


I liked you better in my imagination


I look at the faces of the girls you left behind

I’m still mourning them all


they picked up their hearts

and bodies

and souls

and became women


my shed skins

are stained

by an executed idea

acts of pressured performance

and you still eat them for breakfast


in you I found an unfulfilling conclusion


I ended us both

and for once

no words needed to be said


you’d never understand

you collect and discard

you haunt and revisit

but I burned our house down


I touch the cold rigid fingers

and pour my life into them

Photo by Marta Wave on Pexels.com

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