You’re pretending that I’m real.

I am too.


The gashes open.

Never deep enough.


I’m pretending the pain isn’t real.

So are you.


I sow them with needles.

But only pick the skin wider open.


We’re pretending we have choices.

So were the dead before us.


I silently hope the gashes flower,

So that I can crush the petals into blood.


Because I can only pretend for so long.

2 thoughts on “Pretender

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