Torn

My best friend killed my pet hamster.
I asked her
why.
She said
sorry.

I told her we couldn’t be friends anymore.
She stroked the fragile
body, collected the bloody mass
and left.

Do you see?
The image of you resurfaces.

I give you an x-ray, uncover
a metallic spine, blue-black bones.
I run my fingers across your body and ask why

I deserved it.

You say I wouldn’t understand.

Yesterday I spent hours crumpling
newspapers. My hands were black
from tearing paper flesh. I expose

a silver skeleton, crinkled skin.
I finger the bony vertebrae and jumbled words spill
into my hands. Today

I am still slightly gray
with ink residue.
My floor is littered with paper
carcasses,

tattered and worn.

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