april 2020 — via mail / Steffani Jones
- eva
- May 18, 2020
- 1 min read
The fire of my childhood burns brightly in the back of my eyes.
The glistening you see is the unwrapped bandage of knife
stained wrists and unwanted hands on my hips.
I like your version of me better than the reality.
Remove the part of my brain that pulls me from
my collar when my fingernails beg to sink deeper.
Half of me walks the earth and the other half of me belongs to betrayal. Please, if you are listening; lick the stamp and send me back to me in the mail.
[published as part of pps/FORA #1]
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