we crept out of our skin & dove deep into the trenches of all the twisted influence of our own separate worlds.
naked nerves exposed to the chilling wind of her mouth & his exuberant conversation & fantastic jaw line.
felled in one dramatic swoop of perfect happenstance.
so fragile were the legs of our expensive, cherished stilt-legged resort that we couldn't even blink our eyes fast enough before we saw it swallowed whole in the great wash of a 7 lettered sentence. 2 words.
& as it should be. fragile, that is.
we held all the world within the welcome mat.
& once inside, the fire burned so hot people couldn't stay too long for fear of burning.
there's skin missing from my hands & the tips of my fingers are hard & numb.
feeling.
gasping for breath somewhere under the callused little hammers, 10 in all, that crush & chisel out a meager explanation of all i can never seem to say.
"welcome home".
i hate the sound of that voice. resent it. loathe it.
a perverted, dark, ugly version of a voice much like my mother's.
one you never forget because you heard it from before you could see.
familiar. organic. god forbid, natural.
this is not natural.
i tell that voice to go to hell & say this is not my home.
my home lies in the trenches & out of my skin & twisting around in our separate worlds.
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