i plead into noise
the rope around my neck
i feel this—
a darkened opening,
holes in shallowness,
blends and vibrations,
your voice,
the tension.
pull it.
rip it.
the scabs of my neck,
the void of our truth,
the way you spoke in tongues—
how i feel you in intervals,
in revolving doors,
narcissistic tendencies
looping like static.
i touch the scars of my spine,
the vertebrae that seem
broken, missing,
as if each disc
remembers you
pressing down.
i mouth your name
into black ceilings,
into silence that folds.
there is no answer—
only breath,
tight and unfinished,
a pulse caught in wire.
i am stretched between
what you were
and what you pretended to be.
a body halved.
a ritual undone.
skin holding
what memory refuses to burn.