an. this collection, in all likelihood, will contain triggers for rape, food issues, and self-harm.

i lie here beneath you
staring at the ceiling.

out of habit, i dig my nails
into your bicep, your back,
and exhale audibly
with each thrust.

but i'm not really here.
i have retreated within myself
where nothing can touch me.




maybe the worst is that
i don't even want to be
so far away, so detached;

i just can't seem to help it.
still: i console myself
with the fact
that you will never know

i'm gone.