XXXVI | Something I Did

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Tammie's
bruises

change colour

every day.

I watch her dance
without music,

hands caressing the pole,

sliding down her back,
feet hiked up,
legs wrapping

tightly around her lover.

She catches my eye,
smiling

shy and apologetic.

It's nauseating.

Doesn't she see

the red bruises turning blue
the blue bruises turning black,

the light in her grey eyes

unwavering—
like a mannequin's.

New bruises form

over the old grey ones.

The smell of puke
gets stronger

every
single
day.

Upside down,
her pants ride up again,

revealing
nightmarish shapes

embedded

into her skin.

My throat is dry,
I need coffee.

You're running away.

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