sometimes
i reminisce,
although my therapist,
calls it ruminating.
whatever.
but i go up
into the attic
and see the old straight
jacket, size petite,
hanging from
the rafters.
a few long strands
of blonde
hair still attached.
boy oh boy, those were
some crazy days.
i look at
her gnaw marks,
fresh as they day she
chewed them
trying to get out,
her teeth bites
denting the straps.
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