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I heard you like models
tall
pretty
and thin

I heard they're half your age.
I don't care.

I'll wear those heels
cut my skin
and starve myself,
maybe someday I'll be good enough for you.
I walked in and saw a pair of shoes.
I thought nothing of it,
and went away.
Later, again,
the same pair of shoes.
Those shoes sat down-
blank pants-
I linger long and heard her breath,
building up the courage to ask if she's okay,
"Yeah" a quiet voice cracks.
she's not okay
she's hurting, sick maybe,
but she seems so sad.
She doesn't need me to get anyone
and when it comes to wishing her well
"yeah" is all that I hear.
"Yeah" filled with a quiet torment.

I only saw her black shoes
and skinny black pants.
curled up in the largest stall,
to think I had gone in
feeling sorry for myself
feeling miserable
there to check the mirror
to see if I still look as
disgusting as I think I do,
and there she is,
black shoes
black pants
curled where nobody would notice.
I know that voice
I know that breath,
the tears, by now,
would be stale on her face.
I went away
but still her sad black shoes
patted sad footprints on my heart.
To the girl with sad black shoes at school, your muffled tears echo in my head.
I laid out twenty-two new shining glasses.
Regal, sparkling and tall.
I took each one in hand,
a rag in the other,
and turned on the water.

Suds spooling round
up and down
whirling softly
with old hands
washing with precision.

It's three am and I stand solitary
and tired at the kitchen sink.
I keep my socketed eyes
down to the glass and suds
for fear of looking into the reflection
of the window above.

An hour drones by,
I don't notice.
Busy standing still
in the dead of night,
up and down
round and round
suds bubbling
from old hands
washing precisely.

I wash them once
I wash them twice and set them to dry.

I dry them once
I dry them twice and set them side by side.

I won't be using these, no,
the glasses are for others,
to look proper while shining and clinking
and tipping and sipping
and laughing and being happy.

Eyes down from the window,
where a haggard thing waits,
I look to the glasses,
and wash them once more.
Eyes lingering on the steel blade.
Tracing the exact way to tie that knot,
noting where she puts her pills.
Floating in the water,
body tempted tempted to forget how to swim.
Maybe if I starve long enough...
Sometimes I think about death,
but then question
What's the point of killing the body
when the soul died so long ago?
What's the point,
when I'm already dead inside?
 Apr 2014 Riley Key Cleary
Zaynub
it was 9 pm
I opted to go to sleep.
you asked, “why?”

honey,
what good is it
to be awake
at time where
I’d like nothing more
than to die?

it was 9 am.
I stayed in bed.
you asked “why?”

darling,
why hurry
to be somewhere
you’re not wanted?

it was the weekend.
I remained in bed.
you asked “why?”

sweetie,
i’ve had enough.
i just need some rest.

i never woke up after that.

you stopped asking why.
Some secrets
Ought to be kept alone
Ready to wait
Ready to die
You made me this way

Not once did I flinch
Only did I fear that you

Might try again
Or maybe take things farther. Id
Rather not think about it for
Every time I do, I become                                           *S T R O N G E R
Baby touch me...
kiss and caress me.
Trail your fingers on my cheek
down the curve of my neck.
Across my breast,
up the hill of my hip,
over my thigh,
between my legs...
Bite me but softly,
grab my hips and pull me towards you.
Skin on skin,
Lips, together.
Bodies pressing.
Intertwined in a passionate bliss,
much like our first kiss.
You massage my back,
taking from me the pain long felt.
Yet again running,
fingers up my spine so gently,
I shiver,
Eyes closing to remember this,
this passion, content, no longer longing.
Time passes,
while your touch weakens.
Ceasing to kindle that fire,
gone, all gone,
as well as your hands
from my soft skin.
The memory of your lips.
The feel of your hips.
I sigh as I walk away now,
my choice yet it still hurts.
Remembering fondly that touch,
that caress.
Love of mine.
Think of me kindly, don't miss me.
Believe simply that we had a fire,
but the door is shut now,
cutting off the air that fead it.
Baby you've done your part,
but now its time for a new start.
Here I tread on a woodland promontory—
With wings and wind conjuring the rains,
All is vastness and shroud, open, empty,
Even the light is carried away in silence,
My flesh all but smearings on the tableau,
Foothold of dream within disrupted dream,
Our hands once reached out into forever,
Now my soul is seeping from veined cairns,
Cut chains, mist, rains hollowing the wind.
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