Flashback I

 

he fucked me on the bathroom sink during my first episode

in front of the mirror

and The Matrix is not a movie           

it’s a headspace

a reproduction of bruised thighs and jutting ribs

one blue-eyed man between me—real

one brown-eyed man behind me—past

i saw them both

in the hardwater glass

with their           rough hands pressed against my

nipples                yellow-stained teeth lick along my

neck      and       

              and                     

                and              and

history repeats itself, but nobody told me it could overlap

or link with my skinny fingers

or braid itself into my course hairs

or leave saliva on my chapped lips

           or moan into my drumming ears

or stare into my dilated pupils

           or become the shadow in my reflection

the amygdala, i read somewhere it could be rewired

           and mine stu-stu-stutters on re-re-re

play of an orgy with a ghost

 

Signed

Leona Wilde