It’s a strange feeling, this, to be left alone in the middle
of a crowd, to be abandoned by people that I’ve never met.
The sun disappears and so do the strangers, and I sit cross-legged
on the harsh concrete edge, lockside for the thousandth time, with my
purple lipstick and my white wine eyes, wearing a garnet ring that was
prised off the finger of a dead woman, with not even my faithful moon
for company, and if I told you that I feel alive, it would be a lie, one
greater than the lie I told you last night, the one that you will
cling onto for the rest of your life, the one about loving
you, the one about trusting you, the one in which I
promised that I wouldn’t die too soon.
Originally published at Sledgehammer Lit Journal (August 2021) here.