Emptiness crawls the length of my spine,
spinning insecurity to knots.
The redlight exchanges a sly glance
for what’s better left unsaid in a house full of dread.
A candle closes in for a winter wind,
taking her six feet beneath a calendar page.
A die casts an awkward summer-fall, beating to the drum to a fucking twist of a knife in the back.
A line that she crossed me off her list;
the wickedness burns within her ice-cold chest.
A whisper floats through this empty house.
I run down the stairs; there she stands, wet from the pain of the rain, begging me to take her back.
(© 2021 AC)