things that stay put

the desk bolted into the ground

the chair equally bolted

your head smashed into it

hanging there, bleeding

a rotting orange in that room you went to every morning.

your skin against skin against skin

the resting body

your father after the sixth time you tried to off yourself and woke up in the same place you’ve always been

the white crinkled scars from your nervous tick

the same tick your father had that made him scratch that brown spot atop his bald head.

you going silent after the rape

him going off to tell his boys after

the moment frozen in time

my headaches

the will to live matched with the want to die.

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