All I see when I look in the mirror,
Is a reflection of his ghost.
Is the dullness of his eyes
And the crookedness of his teeth.

I don’t remember most of it.
It’s easier to forget when
My skin, like his, is awake

—So I stopped sleeping.

All my memories of him
Have baptized in blood,
My own blood.
Perhaps my mother’s too,
And that of my sisters,
Maybe his.

I stopped wearing my glasses.

Maybe if I don’t see the crystal of the mirror,
I won’t see him either.

But it never works.

The truth doesn’t get any cloudier.
I still feel his breath on my battered back
Laced with liquor and some
kind of rotten.

I stopped washing my hands

Because they get more calloused
And more like his.

Sometimes,
When I stare at my feet,
I still see cherry wine
On the cold floors.
I still feel glass
Puncturing skin.
And curses thrown
Through
My mother

I started drinking.
But now I feel more
Like him.
Like the waves of beer
In glass bottles
Is him
Trapped
In a monster.

I started drinking.
But now I feel more
Like his.


I wonder if I will ever be anything but
His.