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Scream Love, Scream Enunciate

By Sophia

It is black outside,

and the dishwasher is

murmuring its black

stories about returning,

recurring death.

I am home alone and

my very body

is a reminder of how

hard it is to want.

Bad dreams about you—

as a witch hanging

me by the feet in my garage—

you’re the owl outside my window

when I pull open the dusted blinds—

it’s been watching me

so many nights—

they wake me up at 3AM

then 5AM

like I’m eight-years

-old-again,

and the rest

of the day is haunted.

Cadence of

cicada calls

lulls me

like a nursery

rhyme. I hold

myself, terrified.

Hearing moving

shapes through air—

moving bodies.

I am scared to see

the garage when it

all darkens. (No one

will believe me when

I say you’re a witch

or I’m being watched).

No one understands

that it is no consolation

to be told someone else

does not want what you want.

I won’t be able to think of

this a few hours from now.

I do not want the sun to rise

because it stopped being beautiful.

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