morning after
Carry my body,
at the very least.
Your deed is done,
let go of the stone.
Bring me gently to
the room we grew up.
The place I first
learned to love you.
The place you first
learned to make fists.
This is my body now,
wounded and bloodied.
How is yours,
ached and worn as it is?
Unclench your hands,
I am forgiving you.
Mother will cry,
and father will scream.
But I will not speak a word;
nothing can be said.
Make dinner and leave
me a cup at the table.
Let it go cold as you hold
your head in your hands.
Place my old things
close to your chest at night.
Eat from my wounds
before dragging me away.
Lay me in a shallow grave
and love yourself.
That is all that can be said
about this evil you have done.
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