Her week left her spread thin, like a dismembered animal carcass caught in the misfortune of a traffic rush. Bright pink and honest and irrelevant.
Her mouth broke that evening, while trying to whisper promises of nothings to her lover. Her pillow-talk lies turned sour almost immediately, even as they collapsed under their own weight. The rancid smell of her solipsism clung to her the rest of the weekend. After sleepless nights, she was forced to return to her home-that-was-not-a-home. Populated by adult children who jeered at her for all the wrong reasons. Her shame was terrific and unbearable.
11:43 a.m. - 2016-04-04
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