I want to forget the way your words became teeth,

Sharp, gnashing, unforgiving.

You talk ‘pretty’ now.

Your canines ground down and polished,

Your incisors chipped and worn.

Harmless, with a mangled bite.


When your maxilla and mandible collided the last time we spoke,

The force was enough to break me.

My bones ground to dust,

Ravines in my skin,

The crack of the collision deafening.


The scars remain.

A thin crust of dried blood leaves the scent of iron on my skin.

I know you can smell it too.

I hope it haunts you.


I know you’re trying to be better, I want you to be better.

You talk so pretty now

But I am deaf from the sound of my own teeth grinding.


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