whatever it was that
was done to you,
it is the Nothing
that makes you
what you are:
the lover whose hair
you can’t quite remember,
the touch that disappears
from your skin in the cab
on the way home.
the heart is a flood
full of emptiness
no tea time can claim.
we exchange masks
like fruitless children,
hugging dolls with blind eyes,
riddles with no answers,
mastering the language of
snakes in silence,
keeping company with monsters.
Life is some times a fairy tale
with bad teeth.
Don’t tell me you didn’t know.
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