her wrists were bruised.
rope marks.
a red welt on her neck.
she was
going places
I hadn't been.
wounded
and stretched.
the dark circles under her
eyes
look sinful
and empty,
unsatisfied.
a black spider
with no web left to weave.
she leaned on me
for something that
resembled loved,
but was darker
than that.
she needed pain,
unkindness, like
flowers needing
rain.
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