She is hyperbole

Her eyebrows mold, fake smiles to dirty words-
never surprising me;
the mania that plays games in her soul,
like an accident on replay.

Smoke pours out while she speaks. No pity.
Visions of bloody battles, knees clutching the asphalt.
That’s what I imagine.

Sometimes I wonder what I did or didn’t do.

Leaving the toilet seat up
at grandmas-
or vomit on the wall in my bedroom-7 years ago

Perhaps I didn’t smile after her tongue burned my cheek

It’s that kind of feeling
but I still wonder.


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