what a privilege to feel guilty.
to walk down a suburban sidewalk while crying about
all the ways you failed to love me
& everything i still don’t understand.
to sit in a room
surrounded by things that are supposedly mine.
the illusion that i ever owned anything stings
like the naive belief that you ever belonged to me.
in this place that i’ve imagined to be my home,
i found your soul replaced by the fruit flies.
of course, they too went hungry and found another place to stay, wherever that may be.
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