swing

Disposable

When I tell her, “Friend, I can’t call you that anymore. You’re toxic and I’m drowning in open water,” I imagine her toes disappearing into her fuzzy bath mat, her fingers curled around a razor, cursing how they’re both disposable. I imagine her blood sticking to her forearms, a welcoming sign of life, a guarantee…

pills

Toxic

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…