you’re stepping out
side of the apartment
a blade pocketed
fingered cigarette
against your lips
bruised indigo
sucked strap
dehydrated
every street
lurking stranger
has your pornography
in an open tab
some of which
you shared yourself
some of which
you didn’t
it doesn’t matter
maybe she’s sorry
maybe she’s caligula
it’s not their business
it’s not yours
so stop staring
back, they don’t belong
in your eyes
what is there
to atone for
or forgive
we’re burning both ends
it’s easier
instead to carve
out an island
a body of your own
to be weaponised
to be politicised
emaciated meat shielding
slightly less emaciated meat
they will pay you
to do as you’re told
and you will grip
your knife
/// 