Just Another Mask

You were five fingers in
and I thought
if I let you go any further,
I might become
the nightmare he remembered,
a crawl of fire ants
and slit throats,
the warm-skinned whore
who couldn’t let him falter.

You wanted to do it
all by yourself.

I screamed for you.

In the middle of the day.


I did more
than let you go.
I pushed you away.
I should’ve kept you
inside me,
let you do
exactly what we both wanted;
I’d have died, before now,
killed myself to become real,
but it would’ve been better
than living alone.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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