| sister wears the barstools thin in the casino smoking pall malls | says she prefers these over other brands because of her last boyfriend the first guy she really loved | I tell her she’s dumb for smoking them in the first place while I hang out on grindr scavenging for the parts of you that turned me on most | mother calls in hysterics over the lack of attention paid to her sacrifices | I bite down but don’t order a drink in fear I’ll become her even after the mastectomy and hormones | even now I wake up sweating from dreams that my voice raises two octaves and the person on the other line can’t tell if it’s me or my mother speaking | sister blows clouds out her nose and single finger punches the touchscreen spin wheel hoping for all cherries | this is what heartache looks like |

he’s daddy in all the ways it counts and if i could i would carry all his baggage like a small bellhop. how long until he has swallowed me whole? has he already? i can still smell him on me, feel his hands on the back of my head, fingers woven in my hair. why? why do i fall for so little?

sometimes if it’s too quiet it’s violent, just like the song says, and i can hear men grunting, moaning, finishing all on loop. i can close my eyes and it’s a rorschach of flesh, and a burning tear in my inner thighs, and the men, all the men pulling me further in two. sweat is pouring and the edges of my brain are becoming frayed until there is nothing behind my eyes. nothing between my ears except the sound of men grunting, moaning, finishing.