a look

a particular sound

the way a sunbeam stretches

                      across a dusty floor




pictures tilted on their hooks

worn out shoes by the back door

a burning candle on a chipped dish

    sending ribbons of smoke into stale air




hands around my throat in a self-defense class

    hands gripping my wrist

        hands twisting my arms




except these hands were mine

I was not the victim in this scenario

                    not this time




it brought me back to a place I had forgotten

to a place I thought I’d left behind

to a person I thought no longer existed

                    I had buried her


Once broken, always broken

                I guess


that must explain why I’m here alone



wishing I had a bottle of whiskey


to make these feelings disappear


damn triggers

photo: Pixabay


prompts: hannahbanana18, #NaPoWriMo


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