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  • Elizabeth Woodson


Updated: Dec 10, 2021

His fingers are numb from unspoken positions. It’s unknown where she lays her head these days, but healing has been happening. He wishes for her goodness, but forgets to wish after blowing out the candles. Others will take advantage of these corners for love is nothing but kept promises, through time and space. And if he has truly forgotten than there is no way she should reveal her next dream to him.

Senseless she calls all the men who stand in line to fuck her, but never to make any promises. They’ll come to say goodbye in the worst ways, as she has made promises to Neptune to always love those who cross paths with her.

He hasn’t a name and so he spells things backwards in order to relieve his own pain, but like her I agree he deserves to swim in it for the rest of his nameless life. For his broken promise led to the line of men fucking their way through a tube a toothpaste in order to say to their stupid children that their mouths are clean this calm morning.

She forgives no one for she has not heard an apology from anyone‘s broken voice but her own. And she will forever be apologizing too. This is why the wild mushrooms led her to the pistol that hides at the barbershop. It is not his story to tell, so when she steals lines that grant her more confidence as the next man penatrates his way through her walls, she will right off all of them as soulless rapists. Allowing her drunkenness instead of love.

She continues through her salted tears and believes the next voice that confirms she receives all the blessings she wishes she had already. It’s safe to pity her, for she has given up. Her spirit lay broken on the pillow she tossed away last month. Hoping it gets recycled by someone more pure than all of the men who fancy her smile and eyes and voice and mind but not her health.

They grant her the pistol cutting the last of her voice out of her body believing only that the production was what makes her feel happiest. The one she loved first will come back for her to tell her that he had never touched her treasures, as if she had forgotten and needed to thank him.

It wasn’t misery before, but it is misery now. For they all pretend to be happiest not when fucking her but when setting her aflame and leaving her behind in their rear view window. The saddest part is that she will believe them, and feel happy for their happiness and then a terrible depression for her own self worth.

Wild mushrooms is only the beginning, you see, she is still envied by young girls who crave limes instead of the lemons that they are granted. I just hope karma is as beautiful as she claims to be.

Soon she will just be ash in the ocean, bound to no land and forever forgotten by the generations who never knew her words, her beauty. The legacy of loveless paradises will fold on itself like she did with that pistol that evening. Like she does every evening when she wishes.

There is only fantasies here and they have turned on themselves too. Unlike a child she chooses who she never wanted so that when heartbreak comes she won’t feel it anymore. Its not the fear or the loneliness. It’s the repetitive. It doesn’t even hurt, it’s numb now. And the truth, that’s what has been allowing the sun to come up again.

But it’s been raining for another month, and her light has dim-sum. Asian-Americans speak and show the hate they have been facing and I don’t know what is more sadder, their timing or the fact that another black body will go unnoticed into a dark abyss that this world had stolen from.

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