I want to scream I hate you
and maybe you do too
but I knew your (our) traumas
more intimately than I knew you

the lies you (we) weaved
a better quilter than me
with “opportunity” scattered across the floor

luring (us) me between sheets
moans
and presents

rotting like me

because nothing screams “I’ll get to it”
Like the maggots of our (your) dreams crawling back to me

cause I kept feeding them