Let me graze my fingers along the ripped edges of your figure
and flex mine with the movement of the sun.
Do I frighten you?
Does my negative space equate to your negativity?
Am I that reflection
reduced to your oblong form,
absent of your scabbed and scarred skin,
you’ve no longer hid
since no one said
anything in the first place.
You’re sadistic.
Repressions.
Aggressions.
Depressions.
Holographic clones multiply
on floors, walls, and colored party lights.
I’m tugging on you
whispering
let’s go… let’s go..