"berryessa" poems
~
*I hold still,
let him finish stabbing me
— I count six,
let him believe me dead,
he moves on to Cecelia.
--
It does not go as well for her
as she continues to writhe and scream
and carry on,
not well at all
— I count eight,
nine,
ten...*
~
Jun 19, 2021
Jun 19, 2021 at 11:59 PM UTC