A tangle of clothes stamped into the floor
I experienced the world behind a half-closed door because
Life was too much when it was left wide open and
When love clawed through the crack,
I could stave off the emotion–
       I did not feel.

Depression, the lover I couldn’t release,
Held me under a heap of acid-washed jeans
Stashed in a closet, my fifteen year old self drowned in
Dreams of lithium and suicide and help, and felt things
       I still don’t understand.

Three years later, my lover and I parted ways, leaving
A dip in the carpet contoured to our shape from years of sinking
Like a cigarette burn into the dusty carpet of the closet floor.
But I am not hatches of splitting thread anymore.
           Now I am human.

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