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They act like they don't know what you're doing
Assuming you're doing anything
At all.

Your writing is always possessive
Your photos are always of you
Narcissist.

She acts like it's all working with the precision of a clock
I know what goes on behind closed doors with you
I'm so glad I know how truly miserable she is...
That face is excruciatingly beautiful
Blinding as platinum confetti
For the new year of the soul

She is my conch shell
When I hear her, I hear me

That body is hauntingly whole
Strong as a steel gerder and just as smooth
For the structure we are building

She is my mirror
When I see her, I see me

Those hands are soft as silver
Holding the pages of our life
Strongly into the new book

We will write together.
I cast away my narrow waist
Whale bone my rib cage
You open me up to demolition
My voice is silent

As you split the seams
Of a world I was far too fragile for
Living, the flash of liquid light
Turns the horizon on it's end.

The lies you fabricate, a master
Storyteller by design
A lowlife criminal
With overwhelming needs
You walk into a life
Presenting yourself as the saviour
And no one is the wiser, except you
And you make the deception
Palpable as wedding cake
Sweeter than cyanide
Undetectable to all
But her.

Does the coffin ever fit the soul?
The world gets quieter.
It gets darker.
The hot, salty tears sting my eyes and burn my cheeks.
What is going on?
Am I dying…?
I start to choke.
My lungs shrink, pleading for one more breath.
I am desperate to scream.
But it feels as if someone has stolen my voice.
I am disoriented.
I don’t know what’s up or down or left or right.
Everything is spinning around me.
I cannot think.
My thoughts are fuzzy and lost.
My blood burns as if lava courses through my veins,
Yet I shake as if I were plunged into a freezing ocean.
I am drowning.
I sink deeper and deeper.
The pressure crushes my chest.
My hearts pounds like a war drum.
I am at war.
This is one of my daily battles.

But how do I achieve victory?
I am losing.
I am running out of strategies…
 Apr 2015 Sheila Hackett
Kat
there's an angry voice inside of me
i need to write down
and let loose.
but it only comes out as a whisper.

i use the things i won't do,
like death,
to inspire me for things i try to do,
like being alive.
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