Bugging Out
Alone, watching the logs burn—
sizzling, like my heart after your words.
Betrayal hangs, breath lingering and swaying.
My eyes crackle with the fire and the brokenness.
Where does your emphasis come from—
to berate, humiliate,
to call me lower than a bug,
invisible as the squashing.
Sloth-like, I move toward the shower,
turning the water on with practiced grace,
trying to drown out...
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