berlin

is this borrowed time?
was something valuable broken that night?
are we just episodically reliving the echoes of that night?
or is it me, the constant storm brewing inside me
a tormented ghost
a blackwashed memory
trapped within, shaking its cage at night
demanding to be acknowledged as a real and living breathing thing that
happened

so it can free itself
find a wide open space
flail its fists at invisible people who were
there but not there when she really needed them
cut herself open
and scream.