This Might Be Becky’s PTSD

when you 
tied me up, under flickering lights
where were you 
behind the curtains, cold sweat 
in the summer
down the flicker in my wrist, 2 hours 
by the cartilage 
by the brown in my bones by the
screaming tinge in my throat
through the cotton in your ears 
spotlight, when you tied
me, up to the ceiling by the wrists 
flickering scream through closed windows
in the summer when you see me: 
run in directions, away to the bathroom 
two hours, where you tie me 
up, two hours by the scream 
beside me, I am seeking 
informative screaming 
panic attack in the courtyard 
from the wrists tied up to the ceiling 
resign to France, I must labor to relieve 
the wrists, to leave the ceiling, two hours ’til 
Still in your sights
Algeria

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