by ISLA THEIS ANDERSON
When you find yourself shattering
one of the two good fists you were given
against a wall, not towards any agenda, but
because your knuckles needed reminding
of where they came from - who do you
think you are, anyway? - then you know
that you will never testify against him.
How old were you?
If this is, indeed, a valid
logic system, it is not one
that I wish to adopt. I don't care
about Paris, his nice apartment,
labrador, wife and two children, two
boys so it doesn't matter, don't ask
me. I wouldn't know what to tell you.
Nine.
He probably has a lot of nice candles and shit.
Grey jowls. A belt. I used to imagine him
out in furs, still blood-wet, lined
with flesh. The Original. Skin
against skin
against skin.
It was August the 4th, 2007, you were wearing
a red tartan skirt, your eyes were puffy
like you had been crying.
