Hanging on a boy’s arm

Christina Strigas

The day has become the night

enter the man

who reads me

creates me 

into his favorite female character

I waver, fall

over his words. Tripping

over them, bumping

my head at this catastrophe

of a situation. Bending

my will to further explore

the bottle of booze

empty at my feet

as I contemplate breaking

the glass

that holds no answers

to my never-ending pursuit

of the imagination. 

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