My mind settles on what it knows.
I hear voices. They force me to calibrate how often I do not listen.

Separating the personal from perception,
a series of justified decisions,
folded into fixed patterns,
flashbacks of dissociations –

Similar to the ways that our attempts
to escape have resulted in capture,
like that summer when the light never disappeared.

Tension born from lust disguised as domesticity
has become an intimate style of familiarity.
Finding peace through erasure is luxurious.

All of this, including what is still yet to come,
leaves behind delicate traces, reminders of permanence,
like faint marks on paper maps and open hips showing scale and distance.

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