the dark parts

The rusty blood crust that

waits in the corners.

It’s always been there.

Now with a sidecar of brave.

 

You’re hunted on the street

like an animal

the same animal you came from.

 

Different skin.

 

There was hope once.

Now it’s a never-ending

shuffle of kaleidoscope

pandemic fueled disaster plans

and hand sanitizer nightmares.

The dull smell of peppermint

doused with propofol dread.

 

My daughter crawled into my lap

when she saw me cry.

I couldn’t explain the wretch

my body felt at the world, but

she understood the heave and put a

blanket over my shoulders and

sunk into my abdomen, like a

baby spider returning to the dark.

 

And we swayed in the web and slept.

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