long time no see

with scaly fingers, i tuck these

thickened, dry lumps of quasi-forgotten

nightmares with a sticky duvet to sleep.

i sweep the dust off another, and smoothen

it out on my weathered mountains of knuckles.

the cabinet i thought i’d never open

slams shut, scaring away the spirits

of need and thirst and greed,

until girl in the mirror pins me down with

that familiar gaze.

i tilt my head but she does not tilt back.

instead, she tells me she hopes they will not

notice my wispy, dry hair—constantly

bundled in a scratchy mop—

or the way my lips crack at the edges,

when i smile to kill the silence that stalks like a predator.

but she can only hope: so as i, can only pray.

entropy is a laughable thing.

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