That boy talking to you // I am alone as I write this
on the other side of your table // no one beside, across me
I can’t help but stare // I can’t help but scribble
into what monster lies // the monster I am making
under that skin, that scar // of myself: thin black jagged lines
of the same shape // taking form as a deformed
as his brow, the same edge // mess of my mind, me
of his jaw and his flexing arms. // on ink and shadow.

Perhaps, you don’t know // I think I still don’t know
that it’s the way he devours // how my envy devours me
without swallowing you whole. // to pieces.


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