And then we were finished. As if it never began. Or, as if
it were yet to.
These are not real people you are speaking with. They are
avatars of bank tellers and grocery clerks
They are fine replications, but they are not your friends.
Those you’ve begged for at the door like a dog, they are not
good for you.
You are getting soft with souls.
When you lie down to sleep, remember you are not alone.
The weight of flesh from everyone who has ever lain
next to you has sunken into your mattress
like so many snake skins hanging on the wall.
Like so many notches on the bedpost.
The numens who carve their names into your skull as you
sleep
slip back into their place on the bookshelf when your eyes
twitch open
and you wake with skin under your fingernails
We dare not say ghosts for waking the skeletons in the
closet.
We dare not say goodnight for fear of who will speak back.
We dare not turn on the light for fear of seeing our own
reflection
Resplendent with sweat and sex and totalitarian cheekbones.
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