I think hes the marker of
death but I don’t want to tell
him, what I’d seen.
me: recently sliced open
in my tub, an illusion
cracking, my blood
everywhere.
I don’t want to tell him my fate
and I don’t want to put on
the blindfold. 

what have I give myself
to? proprietary
men? this is how
to leave. you only
have to leave once.
fated love works like this:
you watch a clock
start going backwards and
hug yourself to sleep.

I have acclimated to
freezing water, I did not
enjoy it.