by Kate Peterson
If estrangement is an ongoing death
with no resolution, then what is living
with a man who strangles you with his eyes?
Do you not die every morning when the clouds
glow grey? You hear glass break in the sink,
his morning mantra of blood and fists,
and all you want is coffee—pleasure you can count on.
The shrink says it’s narcissism,
clinical, undeniable, and you should pack a bag,
bring the nest shaped chair if you must, but you must
run. You know this. Continue reading