Izzy circle


my tongue a rusted doornail
catching your coat, pulling the wool
I find echoes of you on the internet
to sing me to sleep in the dark

my perfectly organised dresser in disarray
had to pretend this is a boy’s room for the house inspection
I keep everything important safe under my bed
I sleep alone and my doona is a palace or fortress

people having sex in every room in the house,
even the kitchen, everywhere except my room
I want to hold your hand at the movies and cry
and pretend that this is real life

I spend a lot of time with the big screen
not a replacement for you, but a testament
walking home, my arms hang limp and heavy
lemon pulp on my hands, the kitchen is cold


Sarah circle


we are better than this
we are better than this
for the love of god
please let us be better than this



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