Library Prompt V
2024-04-22

***

Under occlusive skies better left unnamed
I toss and turn in bed, wracked with the pain
of reminder that elsewhere in the state
someone still towards me holds illest will,
thinks less of their memory of me
than perfection's divinity.
I try
to remind
myself less as a salve
than a desperate attempt to keep myself calm:
the body takes seven years to recycle its cells,
meaning no part of me experienced their hell
and for what I did am no longer responsible;
when I left, I made the cleanest break possible,
and if they haven't changed that yet I doubt they ever will.

***

CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander