Timshel
it read just below her palm pink skin aged ink she handed me a tumbler her eyes big shifting for an exit ‘so, you know Sammy Hamilton’ her pupils fell and engulfed me whole bare fingered gentle reach she touched her wrist tell me what it is that broke you how deep into your skin does the mask grow are you not tired carrying its weight waiting for the scars to heal never will she be a girl I know well just one I once hoped to never, not because of her but me bent over hands to porcelain vomiting tequila by the evening’s end
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