52 Hurts; cycle 3

you once had a sister who lived
with you every day for your first 
16 years. you shared a home 
of brightness and silence, where you were 
taught the odd swirl of self-loathing and
arrogance. you thought maybe you were
close, though probably you were not. you escaped
the chronic angers of the home through the smeared smile
of intoxicants. she chose the quiet of a door 
shut tight, a phone off the hook, a calendar
cleared of all dates. her pain is one that is kin
to yours, and also wholly her own. you cannot
understand why she dismissed you 
as her brother, but you can understand 
pain. and you know the homes 
we live in, they are all haunted.
our boarded doors always softly
shuddering, at what is kept behind. 

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Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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