I tuck in my chin. I sit in sin. Gliding though the crowd, warmed by the scarlet on my cheek. Walking on the bad roads, they look like hastily stitched up skin.

I look at my friend. The unforgiving minx. Past, they call her. I call her a fucking inconvenience.

Why? I ask. Why did I break? Others bend under rejection, I break.
‘Break?’ Yes, break. ‘Oh, give me a break.’

Why is he here now? What’s left to hear now? No, not hear, listen. Here and now.

There’s noise everywhere I can’t even hear the sound of my feet in my worn out black flats.

How will they know if I’m stomping away or shuffling to safety?

I wallow in sin, stomping and shuffling in the noisy bay. And then I hear him. Hear him take a breath as the air around him wavers and he says again.


So I do. Of course I do. I listen.


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