There is no way to make this story inspiring.
The rotting wood on the window pane grows softer.
Sage smoke won’t solve it.
You wanted it easy, I can’t blame you for that,
but tell me we can do this, tell me
you’re not miserable.
With a soft tongue you can pull even a snake from its nest.
Somebody says that.
And you’re trying to smile.
And I’m inconsolable.
I lay under the bed and pretend you’re watching me
Thinking about my head in your hands.
Thinking about your fist in my throat,
zip tied like a lamb to the bedpost
the centerpiece of the room.
The rotting wood on the window pane grows softer.
Sage smoke won’t solve it.
You wanted it easy, I can’t blame you for that,
but tell me we can do this, tell me
you’re not miserable.
With a soft tongue you can pull even a snake from its nest.
Somebody says that.
And you’re trying to smile.
And I’m inconsolable.
I lay under the bed and pretend you’re watching me
Thinking about my head in your hands.
Thinking about your fist in my throat,
zip tied like a lamb to the bedpost
the centerpiece of the room.
Sara Abrams lives and writes in Armenia with her dog. She plans to stay there until the wind changes course. @srbrms