condensation groping the car windows
conversations where the others always left
pinned like a butterfly, broken wings and you don’t know what to do with your arms
him, writing with a pen you have seen too many times before
pressing so hard the next six months are bruised hungry
there is so much more of you that you want him to hold but he has run out of hands
run out of patience
run out
run
silly girl, here you are again
you don’t know how to be afraid in front of anyone but yourself
so you spit out all the teeth and fill your mouth with blood
redness all you can see and he hands you an apple to swallow whole
looks into the exit wounds pierced through your pupils and asks why he cannot enter
the bones consulted clean and there is nothing left to wait for
just you, a body strategised down to a joke all his friends are in on
and him, a punchline force enough to make you cry