You’re toxic, I’m slipping under. 

She sent me 21 snippets of paper with one word on each and said, “Here. Make a poem out of these.” The idea excited me, the poet in me, until I finally told her I couldn’t be her friend any longer.

A week later I opened the slips and saw the word toxic.

And isn’t it ironic when one of the people you loved most sends you the exact word you will use to end her?

Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here.