Four Sixteen

She’s prying with calloused fingers

Painted-gray nails chipping severely

Her hair drips, hard water pooling at her back

It’s Day 416 now

But it’s no easier than Day 1

She still can’t stand on her own

The faded linoleum floor has become a safe haven

Her chest rises and falls in time with flickering bare bulb overhead

A shadow lives in her hollowed cheeks

His flannel shirt is too thin now to keep her warm

They all promised it would get easier

Hurt would lessen with time, they reasoned

But it’s Day 416 and she’s lost it

Again and again and again

It doesn’t get easier, she whispers to her echo

It only becomes familiar


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