Wire

I was split into pieces
with your muffled
telephone
voice
and left in the dirt
by your calloused
open
hands
then you sewed me up
with threads of
barb
wire
and called your handiwork
suitable
enough,
“all you could do”.
But your intentions
fell with a crash
and a
wallop
like they still do
every time you go back
on your so called
good
word.
The only salve for these
deep lacerations is in
your
apology.

I lie here,
waiting.

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