one extreme
or the other.

Someone to
fuel her addictions,
then someone
to straighten her out
when things
went too far.

She could always
see the writing
on the wall.

With the good ones,
she’d feel fingernails
scraping the windows
in the night,
only to wake up
one day
from anxious boredom.

With the bad ones,
she’d feel her heart
against her ribcage,
dial 91 on the phone,
and wait for dawn
to begin packing.

Another afternoon
grinding her teeth
and making phone calls,
then texting an ex
to make sure
he still “loved” her
or whatever
for when she
had to make a move.

Looking in the mirror,
she figured she had
two more years of looks
before she had to
settle down
or die.

-GD Butler

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