the pain sears through my head like a slipped knife

a gun to the temple

shoulders tightening a little more

hand resting at my brow

rain soaking the window ledge of the 1950s brick cape cod

poems littering my bedspread and the hardwood floors

as mistakes play on repeat inside my broken head

because who could ever fall in love

with me standing before you

pockets turned out and my tongue gone numb

my heart a dying ember

and

my eyes empty sockets

my soul a cold empty room.

-Kristen Mattison 12:23 am

6 June 2024

Ohio