Photo book

At a cafe, hair tampered by sweat and water.

Froth of a hot chocolate on my lips, warm and warm and warm.

Forceful smiles, like a puppet with the most reluctant puppeteer.

Bare faced with vulnerability suffocating my skin, violets choking me with wishful intentions.

Watching with nothingness in the lick of his slim slimy lips, greased over with pride and one note of repulse.

—I remember it all, all of it and all of it.

Each picture an inch closer.

Each gesture a wink further.

Each laugh, a weight heavier.

The wooden being we dined on knew of the fate I had.

Uneven feet, heat rolling through my shoes to my head,

a shirt I'll never wear again.

An empty plate, but a hunger who summoned all the things of pain,

and a photo book to corrupt my brain- black plague.

Plagued and cut and stuck.

On the frames of my chest, walls of carvings between train tracks

and frail scaffolds the summer wind could blow over.