ink stains made like dirt
always wash away
but it always stays
loose hairs on the vanity
dirty mirror and me
you can see me in photos
empty holiday pictures
arms around others
smiling daggers lasting
i knew i left
before i walked out
all the footsteps
mapped out and cast
my bags already packed
nothing left to retrieve
leaves and goes
never is an answer
no return addresses
just postcards sans words
like my voice was all along
desolate in my presence
my breech was a formality.
