Break up to release the tension, reconcile because the loneliness punctures like a stubborn thorn, and shocks like Winter rain. A million endings that lead right back to the place I tried to leave. Become loathsome beasts, wading through sewage.
Cory keeps me on his bed, where he can watch me, fearing that if he handed back my autonomy, I would stray far from him. Then, he says nothing. The rage inside keeps his tongue still. It is all in his eyes, that say it is not wise to twitch, to sigh.
He is half-conscious from the pain of his past. A mother on drugs, frequently abandoning her children for one man, or the other. A father who does not care. We are all hanging on to our damage, like a badge of honor. Veteran soldiers, with post-traumatic stress disorder. We are living in the memory of a war, in which we were not victorious. Legs blown off, bullets not extracted, substantial nerve damage